Stacked Odds
by sponsormusings
Summary: Katniss Everdeen did the unthinkable & won the 73rd Hunger Games. Now in her first year as mentor, she's horrified when Peeta Mellark is reaped. Soon, they're fighting against challenges that neither ever expected to face. Can Katniss be a strong mentor for her tributes, while recognising her growing feelings for Peeta? And can Peeta overcome the odds, to be the next victor?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - For artistic purposes, I have aged everyone up a year. This means that Prim is eligible to be reaped in the 73****rd**** games. **

_Katniss POV_

It's mornings like this I am so bitter and angry that it's almost beyond my comprehension. The breeze in the woods is brisk, and I've spied at least a dozen wild animals that I could take down easily. But hunting is not a necessity anymore, or a means to survive, and therefore I feel my heart isn't in it.

Almost a year ago I won the Hunger Games, and I've got more money and food than my wildest dreams could have ever imagined. I don't need to hunt to survive, and it's almost killing me.

It also doesn't help that every time I raise my bow, or stare at the animal in my sights, I see Rue. Her small, broken body and her eyes filled with tears as she asks me to sing. Her final breath as the games takes another young life.

I'll hate the Capitol everyday of my life for doing that to her and taking the joys of everyday life from me. Of course, today of all days, my hate burns brighter than ever.

It's Reaping Day.

_12 months earlier_

_Looking out over the skyline of the Capitol, I can't believe the words that escaped my mouth earlier today._

"_I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" I wasn't even 100% sure what I had been saying, but I'd thrown myself forward into the arms of the Peacekeepers marching Prim up to the stage. Prim's eyes staring up at me in horror, her piercing screams ripping at my barely controlled composure. My mother sobbing uncontrollably. Gale, his grey eyes full of regret and disbelief, gently picking Prim up and mumbling "Up you go, Catnip."_

_Even watching the replay with Haymitch and Effie, the District 12 Mentor and Escort respectively, on the train to the Capitol, it hadn't really hit me. I didn't take note of the begrudging admiration on their faces – it had been a long time since District 12 had someone volunteer for the games. So long, in fact, no-one was even sure it had ever happened. But now, in the solitude of my room, it hit me. I was going into the Games. I had volunteered. I was going to die. But at least I had saved Prim._

_I thought of my co-tribute in the room across the hall. Baden Woodhouse was a Townie, the son of the butcher. We had never spoken before today – Town and Seam folk don't mix – but he was nice enough. Although I didn't hold much hope for him considering I hadn't seen him stop crying since that morning. A part of me was sorry for him, the other frustrated beyond belief, wishing he would man up. I held on to the latter feeling, as feeling sorry for him would make it all the harder to return to District 12 without him. Because that is what I was going to do. What I had to do._

_Prim made me promise to win, and I don't break my promises._

I sigh. I hadn't broken my promise. Against the odds, I returned home to District 12, but not as the same girl who left. Everyone could probably attest to that. My mother, who comforts me in the middle of the night when I wake screaming from my nightmares. If there is one thing that improved after the games, it was the relationship with my mother. Finally, she had the opportunity to look after me, and she held onto that responsibility tightly. I think part of her knew she was trying to make up for 5 years of neglect.

Prim, whose happy demeanour had always cheered me. Now she had to put more effort into it than she ever had before. And I knew a part of her felt guilty every time she saw me curl myself in a ball on the couch, staring blankly at the wall, thinking that she was the cause of the changes in me. No matter how many times I argued this point against her. It wasn't her fault, and she had no right to feel guilty. It was the Capitol, nothing more, nothing less. But the seed had been planted and I knew it festered in her.

My best friend, Gale. My hunting partner, my confidant. We had spent practically everyday with each other over the last 4 years, since our fathers had died in the same mining explosion. We had met unexpectedly in the prohibited woods surrounding our district. Food was a limited commodity in the Seam, and most families only had the option of signing their children up for tesserae or starving to death. Tesserae won out - most of the time. But my father – as well as Gale's, it seemed – had been determined not to live and die by the rules of the Capitol, and had been experienced hunter gatherers. As we grew, they both had the same idea to pass their skills and knowledge onto their children _just in case_. My father patiently taught me to use a bow and arrow, to swim, to identify plants, flowers, anything that was edible – or poisonous. Gale's father had taught him how to create elaborate and crafty snares, and instilled in him a stealthiness that enabled him to creep around the woods silently. I don't think it was either of our father's intentions to die so soon, or for us to inadvertently team up together as we continued to hunt illegally to provide for our families. But it happened nonetheless.

But I can see now how my lack of comfort and familiarity in hunting is affecting Gale. He stares at me forlornly, as if his old hunting partner would magically reappear if he wished it hard enough. I feel bad for this, but I can't help it. I'm not Katniss Everdeen, District 12 resident and illegal hunter anymore.

I am Katniss Everdeen, Victor. And as of today, Mentor.

I leave Gale to trade our meagre spoils in the market and head back to my home in the Victors Village. Mother and Prim live with me here, making it bearable to live in. As a Victor, I was afforded the privilege of living in a beautiful house with all the Capitol luxuries you could think of. Which was nice, but there were times when I felt the walls were watching me, and to be honest, I wouldn't put it past the Capitol.

Our only neighbour was Haymitch Abernathy, the second victor in history from District 12, and the only one other than myself to still be alive. Although in honesty, he seemed to live a half–life, one filled with alcohol and an overwhelming desire to drink himself into oblivion. For many years, I had judged him like every other person in 12. After experiencing my own horrors though, I can now understand why he chooses to live that way. It doesn't make him any easier to deal with.

I prepare myself for this afternoons reaping, and find myself remembering Haymitch prepping me on the train returning from the Capitol….

_He eyed me beadily, and took a swig from the flask that seemed permanently attached to his left hand._

"_Now the hard work begins," he started. I turned to him surprised._

"_You've got to be kidding. The 'Arena' doesn't ring any bells?" He shakes his head and sighs._

"_You did good in the arena, Sweetheart. Sometimes I still don't know how you did it." I do. It's called murder. "But now you have to come to the realisation that although you were the victor, you didn't __win__. Your life will be an endless cycle of reapings, and mentoring, and watching the kids you lead into battle die. Trust me, it's gonna happen. This is the first time in 23 years that I'm talking to someone on the train home that isn't myself." He pauses, letting the words sink in. "In 6 months, we'll go on the Victory tour, where you'll have to face the families of those kids who died in the arena. Smile and wave while your heart is breaking and you're wishing to god you had died in there with them. 6 months after that, you'll stand up next to yours truly and see the next two lambs we'll lead to the slaughter." I feel like there is more than he wants to say, but is purposely holding it back. His eyes, rheumy with alcohol and lack of sleep, break the contact we've inadvertently held, and he looks out the window to the approaching woods of 12. "The ride isn't over, sweetheart, and there's some days you'll really wish it was." _

12 months later, and I'm sitting beside him on stage in front of the Justice Building, just as he said, watching Effie pull names out of paper-filled glass bowls. He's trying hard to be on his best behaviour, as I know he feels some sense of responsibility to making sure I handle this all ok. The female tribute is a girl from the seam, but surprisingly I don't know who she is. She looks around 14, and as she steps up onto the stage I can see a sense of pride in her. I'm confused by this, until Haymitch leans over, his breath hot and laced heavily with alcohol.

"She thinks she's the next Katniss Everdeen," he hisses, and my heart drops. No-one should want to be the next Katniss Everdeen. I turn my attention back to Effie, almost wanting to smirk at the elaborate electric blue outfit she has on. But the next name she calls wipes the smirk from my face, and every thought from my head.

"Peeta Mellark!"

Shit.


	2. Chapter 2

_Peeta POV_

I enter the town square with hundreds of other District 12 teenagers, my stomach queasy, and my head aching with the knowledge of what is about to commence. This day rolls around quicker every year the older I get. I'm thankful that my brothers are no longer eligible for the Reaping, I don't think I could handle seeing one of them reaped. It was one less thing to worry about, and despite the fact I had numerous friends who were still eligible, I could hold on to the fact that this Reaping Day couldn't get any worse than last years.

_I looked on, in horror, as Katniss Everdeen volunteered for her sister Primrose and stumbled her way to the stage, shaking hands with Baden. Having Baden up there was bad enough – I'd known him since I was five, and had a number of classes with him in school - but having Katniss up there as well was like I had been kicked in the guts repeatedly._

_I had loved Katniss Everdeen for as long as I could remember._

_She didn't know, of course. At least, I didn't think she did. My earliest memory of her was from when we were five, and my father had pointed her out to me as the daughter of his teenage sweetheart. At 5, I didn't completely understand the grateful feeling I had towards her mother that she decided to run away with a coal miner for love, not money. If she hadn't, I wouldn't be able to look at this pretty girl in the red dress with her hair braided. By about 12, I did understand, and my feelings towards that girl were a little less innocent and a lot more awkward._

_We had our first interaction at 11, when my mother yelled at her for rifling through our rubbish bins, threatening to report her – a 'seam rat' – to the peacekeepers. Her father had not long been killed in a mining accident, and her mother had sunk into a deep depression. It was evident Katniss and Prim weren't being cared for. My heart was breaking for her, as I had seen her grow weaker and more emaciated in the months following her fathers' death. I was terrified she would soon follow him. I did it on instinct, and when I burnt the bread, I took the belting my mother gave me in my stride. It would be worth it. I threw the bread to her when my mother was out of sight, and saw her gaze at me, incredulously. It didn't take her long to pick it up and run._

_Seeing the life return to her __was__ worth it. As the months followed, I could see the strength return to her body, and the life come back in her eyes. Occasionally we would lock gazes, but that was all. That day outside the bakery was our last true interaction._

_On the 73__rd__ Reaping Day, I had berated myself for never speaking to her, never telling her how I felt, that she would die and I would never have the chance to tell her I loved her. I watched those games like a man possessed – I don't think I slept the entire time it was on. My mother thought I was watching it because I loved the blood and violence and fighting, and oddly I felt a sense of approval from her. She would have beaten me if she knew the truth._

_My father did. I think he's the only person who has ever known, but he was always kind enough never to say anything, other than to be more than generous to her in trades. I knew he did that more for me than for her, but I couldn't begrudge him that._

_I had known she had a fighting chance in the games, but a part of me still couldn't believe it when she was able to push the tribute from District 2 – Cato – from the top of the Cornucopia onto the pack of mutts growling at them from the ground. Couldn't believe it when she returned to 12 looking just like the girl from before. But she wasn't. It was so easy to see. I know she wasn't hunting as often – it was only her 'friend' Gale who would come to trade – and she rarely accompanied Prim to steal looks in the bakery window. Upon her return from the Victory tour, she withdrew into herself even more, and people rarely saw her out of her home. _

I look at her now, and she looks beautiful, vibrant. She is wearing a soft dress that hits just below her knees, in a forest green that makes her olive skin glow. It's only her eyes that betray her. They're filled with sadness, a little pain and a lot of apprehension. I'm so busy looking at her that at first I don't hear what Effie Trinket is saying. I don't notice that everyone is turning to stare at me. All I notice is that Katniss' eyes have grown wide and I can visibly see her swallow heavily. Then it hits me.

Effie called out my name.

This Reaping Day is suddenly ten times worse than last years, and I don't understand how I could never have even contemplated for a second that my name could be picked.

I don't have the time to think twice. The Peacekeepers are beckoning to me, and I step forward, turning to glance at my father. His eyes are filled with tears that are slowly streaming down his face, my brothers beside him immobile in shock. My mother looks indifferent. I push this aside, make my way to the stage, and shake hands mechanically with the girl from the seam, my co-tribute. She's three years younger than me, and I can't even remember what her name is, despite it being called only 5 minutes earlier. Haymitch and Katniss are motioned forward by Effie, and reach out to shake our hands. I shake Haymitch's first, and I can see him sizing me up. His grip is firm, but sticky from the flask that holds his liquor. His breath leaves a lot to be desired, but at least he's upright and conscious this year.

I turn to Katniss and catch her eye before we clasp hands. They are full of regret, and I can see her saying something, but I can't make out what it is. I can't stop thinking about the feeling of her hand in mine and the fact I'm going to my death. _I have got to snap out of this! _I focus hard on what she is saying.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," she says softly. "I'll do everything I can to help you."

Now I can't think beyond the fact that she said my name.

After what feels like hours of emotional goodbyes with my father and brothers – and a rather formal one with my mother – I'm led by Effie onto the Capitol train. Katniss and Haymitch have already boarded, and I follow Hadley, my fellow tribute, up the stairs into the first carriage. I can't believe my eyes.

I like to think my gift of decorating the cakes in the bakery makes me somewhat of an artist. When I'm lucky enough to be able to use some of the leftover paper and graphite from school I venture out to the meadow and draw the trees, the flowers, the colours of the setting sun. But looking at the splendour of this carriage, I'm not sure I would ever be able to capture the grandness and opulence of it. Gleaming mahogany tables and sideboards are filled with heaping platters of food. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and a plush silver carpet sinks under my feet as I walk further into the car. Hadley is as dumbstruck as I am. I stop gawking when I see Katniss and Haymitch watching us from where they sit at the other end, and I raise my chin. For some reason I don't want them to see how much the grandness of the train affects me. I take a seat opposite Katniss, and Hadley sits beside me, tapping her feet nervously. The pride evident when her name was first called is gone, and in its place is a thinly veiled sense of terror. I look at Katniss, then Haymitch, waiting for one of them to speak. They don't.

"Right. What's the deal?" I finally ask. "What's our plan of attack? What's the best way for us to survive?" Katniss is still quiet, and Haymitch rolls his eyes, lifting his ever present liquor bottle to his lips.

"He's a bit more interested than the other kid last year," he grunts to Katniss. She shoots him a look that's so deadly and loaded, I'm surprised he doesn't wither from it. Instead he laughs and looks at me. "It's true. I told him the best thing for him to do was to accept the reality that he would soon be dead. He did. He's dead. She didn't," he flicks his head towards Katniss, "And funnily enough, she's alive." I can't help the disgust that curls my lip. Baden may have not been the ideal tribute, but we had still grown up together.

"Stop it Haymitch!" Katniss snaps sharply. She looks from me, to Hadley and back again. "Go and clean up. Rest. Come back at 7 for dinner. We'll talk then." While it's not the answer I want, I'll take what I can get. Effie guides me out to show me my room, leaving behind two people with so much tension between them, you could cut it with a knife.

I'm out of my room the minute it hits 7pm. It overwhelms me, and fills me with a sense of frustration and suspicion that I can't place. I know part of it is that this train would be worth ten times more than my entire district, and that burns. One chandelier in here would probably feed the entire Seam district for a year. But it's more than that, and I simply can't put my finger on it.

Haymitch, Effie and Hadley aren't in the dining car yet, and Katniss is on her own, silently buttering a roll. She looks up as I enter, and nods in greeting. I pile my plate with as much food as it will take, and start to dig in. I might be the son of a Merchant and may eat more than those from the Seam, but when your primary food group is stale bread, I'm going to gorge myself on fruit the colour of the grass in the meadow and drink a light, golden bubbly liquid until I burst. Katniss watches me before speaking.

"Before last year, I would have thought Townies ate til their bellies were full every night. Baden proved me wrong," she says softly. I glance at her quickly, before returning to my plate.

"Yeah. If he's anything like us, I'd say he would have only ever eaten the worst cuts of meat that were definitely past their prime, that no one else ever wanted." She nods to confirm. "I eat stale bread and pastries 90% of the time, and it's only ever if we have leftovers we can't sell. It might fill you up, but it certainly isn't enjoyable to eat. Except when my father purchases your-" I suddenly cut off as she quickly raises her eyes to me, subtly shaking her head. I'm not sure what this means, but make a note to ask her later. I know hunting out in the woods is essentially illegal, but I don't see the harm in talking about it here.

We fall into silence, and there is a part of me that's in awe of the fact that I'm sitting across from Katniss. Katniss Everdeen.

"So, do you still wrestle?" She asks suddenly. I'm a bit surprised and confused by this. She knows I wrestle? Why should she care?

"Uh, yeah, I do. With my brothers. Occasionally at school."

"You won the comp this year, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Last year I finished second, but wasn't going to let my brother get the better of me this year," I flash her a quick grin at this, and I see her eyes flicker slightly.

"Right. That should help, you know. Strength. Being able to lift at least 100 pounds will definitely be an advantage in the arena." I'm even more confused now. How does she know I can lift that much? It's almost like she knows my unspoken question. "I've seen you at the bakery, with the flour," she clarifies. That makes sense. Everyone has seen me at the bakery. I shrug indifferently.

"Yeah, but as evidenced from you last year, strength isn't going to cut it on its own, you need some kind of talent with a weapon to really help you."

"A bow and arrow didn't exactly help me with Cato."

"But it got you there."

"So did 22 other tributes dying," she shoots back, her eyes flaring, her lower lip quivering slightly. I'm sorry I said anything now, as I see her begin to school her face back into a mask of indifference. She's good at that. Not as good as she was this time last year, when she had everyone believing she had better things to do and better places to see. A year of death and nightmares had gotten to her, but I could see she was determined to get the old mask, her shield, back. I push my now empty plate away – I'm only feeling slightly ill - and stand, reaching out a hand to her.

"I don't care where the others are, but we have a reaping recap to watch. Care to join me?"

Katniss doesn't take my hand, but still follows me into the viewing room. Inside is the biggest screen I've ever seen, outside of the one that is erected in the town square during each reaping and games. This, however, seems a permanent fixture, and has a long plush red velvet lounge lined up in front of it, with enough room to fit ten people.

Katniss sits to my left, leaving a decent distance between us, and she switches the screen on. It comes to life, and it's filled with an image of Caesar Flickerman talking, the effervescent face of the Hunger Games. I know I'll be face to face with him in a matter of days, and the thought of seeing him in that environment causes my stomach to turn nervously. He's hosted the tribute interviews for as long as I can remember, and he never seems to age. The only thing that seems to change is the colour theme of his hair and suit, which I can see this year is a disturbing shade of lime green. I take a look at Katniss out of the corner of my eye and can see a look of amusement cross her face.

"At least he wore a nice shade of blue last year. He just looks ridiculous now," I venture, gesturing to Caesar. She lets out a small laugh.

"Yeah, he does. But he's got nothing compared to most of the residents. Think Caesar times ten, and you've got the general population. Take my prep team, for example. One of them has aqua coloured skin that looks absurd, but it kind of suits her. Another has orange corkscrew curls and wears purple lipstick."

"I bet she looks fabulous," I grin. She slides her gaze over to me, and I'm surprised by the playful look in her eye.

"He does," she replies. My jaw drops, and she smiles.

"I should have seen that coming, after seeing him," I point to the screen. "I guess he'll be a sight to behold." We sit silently for a few minutes, before I remember our conversation earlier. "You know when we were talking before about food, and I mentioned my father?" She nods, but raises a finger to her lips, shushing me. She points to her left ear, and then at the ceiling. It takes me a second, but I get it. _The Capitol is listening. And the last thing they need to hear is about Katniss poaching._ "I was just going to say that he always enjoys how happy it makes the kids from the Seam to see the cakes in the window."

"Your dad's a good man," she replies, and then mouths 'thank you' to me.

The door to the viewing room slides open, and Haymitch and Hadley almost fall inside, Effie bustling along behind them, hurrying them in.

"Goodness, I'm glad the two of you are prompt," she huffs, sitting at the furthest end of the couch. "I had to practically tear these two out of their rooms to eat and get here to view the reaping in time."

"Oh calm down, Effie," Haymitch tells her, rolling his eyes. "I just decided to take a little nap."

"Yes, and that's all well and good, except when we have a schedule to stick to. Honestly, Haymitch, even drunk I expect better from you. At least Hadley here had an excuse. Imagine! Getting stuck in the shower! How on earth could that happen to anyone?" Effie trills, looking around at us all with a bemused smile on her face. I look at Hadley sympathetically. With the dozens of buttons in that shower, it doesn't surprise me that there's one that locks the door. That shower is a complex puzzle to figure out, and I can completely understand the embarrassing situation she would have found herself in. She blushes, but doesn't say anything.

We watch the Reapings in each District, and while some Tributes are utterly forgettable, others sear themselves into my mind. Gage, the male tribute from District 1, looks to be the one to beat this year. He puts Cato to shame with his swagger and smirk and unapologetic ego. The fact that he has muscles twice the size of mine simply adds to it. District 3 has a staunch volunteer for their male tribute, while the girl from 8 looks far too young, sweet and innocent for what she will soon experience. I watch as Hadley is reaped, and am a little surprised at how confident she looks as she marches up to the stage. It's a marked difference to the girl who is sitting beside me now. Then I look at her again and she's sleeping. Part of me is shocked that she can sleep at a time like this, the other sympathetic, thinking she should at least get it while she can.

I hear my name on the screen, and look back in time to see the cameras capturing the blank look on my face. The kids around me are staring in horror, while I gaze around almost nonchalantly. Then it's mortifying watching the realisation dawn on my face, the surprise, then shock, then terror sweeping across it, leaving my cheeks red. The shot then changes to Katniss, and she looks as horrified as I do. All the colour had drained from her face, and you could see her hand had clenched in a fist. Then, in a matter of seconds, she had pulled herself back in – her hands relaxed, her eyes had gone flat and impassive. Emotionless. The mask is back. But I remember our conversation on the stage, and I know that it slipped again when we were face to face. For her sake at least, I'm thankful the cameras weren't that close to be able to capture that for viewing.

"Time for bed, young tributes! Tomorrow is a big, big day, and we must get our beauty sleep!" Effie suddenly stands, clapping her hands. Hadley startles herself awake, and I simply stare back at Effie as she continues to tap her hands together. We rise, and I mumble a goodnight to Haymitch and Katniss, leaving them in the room alone. Effie bids us goodnight, and leaves Hadley and I at our doors.

"How you doing?" I ask her. She shrugs.

"Ok I guess. I fell asleep," she says, unnecessarily.

"Yeah, I caught that. I guess it has been a big day. Can I ask you a question?" She nods. "How come you looked so confident walking up to the stage, but now you…"

"Look terrified?" she finishes. I jerk my shoulders in response. "I guess….. I remember how all the careers look so tough and ready at their reapings, and our District always looks like scared little kids. Which, I get it, we are. But I guess I wanted to throw them off, show that District 12 could come up with more than one Katniss Everdeen. Show that I'm tough like them."

"But didn't it shock you at first? I mean, you didn't even give any kind of hint that you were scared!"

"Of course it scared me. But I've told myself ever since I turned 12 that I had to make sure that I was as emotionless as possible if I was ever reaped. I guess it worked. Now though….. I'm not sure how long I could keep that kind of mask on. I don't know how Katniss does it. The closer we get, the more scared I become. And the more and more it shows. I'm not tough like them. I can't hide it."

"You shouldn't try to be anyone you're not, Hadley. If you're terrified, who cares? We all know exactly why you're terrified, so it's nothing to be ashamed of. Why let the Capitol change you? Remember Johanna Mason? No-one paid any attention to her until she killed them. Maybe…. Maybe by not being so tough and upfront, the other Tributes will leave you alone in the arena, not see you as a threat. And then you can surprise them with whatever skills you have." She tips her head, a slight smile crossing her lips.

"Yeah, I remember Johanna. You're right, Peeta, and you're smart. I hope that helps you in the arena."

"Me too," I reply. "It's time we go to bed, as we know we've got a big, big day, tomorrow!" My Effie impression isn't spot-on, but it's close enough. She smiles.

"Right. Good night," she says, turning into her open door, and closing it behind her. I enter my room, close the door and lay on the bed fully clothed, my head full of the other Tributes and their reapings. And Katniss. Always Katniss. There's no way I'm getting to sleep anytime soon.

**A/N - Many thanks to those who alerted, favourited and reviewed :)**

**Oh, and I don't own THG. But I'm willing to share custody of it.**


	3. Chapter 3

_Katniss POV_

Watching the reapings from the other Districts is not my idea of enjoyable viewing, but as a mentor – and a tribute - it's necessary. Peeta and I sit down to watch them, and eventually we're joined by Haymitch, Effie and Hadley. We see the usual careers step forward and almost beat their chests in enthusiasm. The male from District 1 looks particularly bloodthirsty this year, the girl from 8 reminds me far too much of Rue. I refuse to make note of any of their names. They are the enemy. They are what will be trying to stop my tributes from coming home.

My tributes.

I look at them, and I immediately feel guilty for Hadley, as my thoughts and plans almost exclusively revolve around Peeta. Haymitch will have to stand up for her. I have a debt to repay. Peeta once saved my life. Now I have to save his.

The day he gave me that bread really was a turning point. Without that bread, I may never have had the strength or willpower to continue on, and remember all the knowledge my father had given me - the source of food that was at my fingertips, just outside a fence that masqueraded as electrified. I had the ways – and the means – to support my family by doing the one thing my father had the foresight to teach me. By hunting, and living off the land. I had tried to think of ways to thank Peeta over the years, but nothing ever seemed to be sufficient. I guess this is.

I snap out of my reverie to see Haymitch and Effie talking quietly on one end of the couch, Hadley snoring lightly on the other. I can hardly believe she's sleeping. Peeta continues to stare at the TV, watching as his own reaping begins. I'm embarrassed by the obvious emotion that shows on my face when his name is called, and I curse the Capitol for making my ability to mask my feelings all but evaporate. I need to work on that, particularly around the other mentors. Although if they're watching the reaping like we are, they will have already seen it. And by the looks of the glances I'm getting from Haymitch and Effie, so did they. Effie suddenly stands, clapping her hands together. Hadley is startled awake and Peeta simply glances at her, nonplussed.

"Time for bed, young tributes! Tomorrow is a big, big day, and we must get our beauty sleep!" she trills. I have seen an incredible change in Effie in the last year. I don't know what it is, but her Capitol persona seems _false_ now. Like she's putting it on for show, covering herself, like she does with the wigs and the clothes and the make-up. I'll ask Haymitch. He always manages to know everything despite being drunk. Peeta and Hadley mutter good nights and head off behind Effie, leaving Haymitch and I alone. He slides over on the couch so he's sitting next to me.

"What's the deal, sweetheart?" he starts. He raises his eyebrows at me, and I know he's referring to my reaction at the reaping. I'm still determined to play dumb.

"Whaddya mean?" I ask, intentionally drawing it out just to piss him off.

"I'm talking about the 'shitting your pants' look you had on your face when the boy's name was called."

"Oh. That."

"Yeah, _that_," he replies sarcastically. I know he's not going to let this lie. I sigh, and flip my braid over my shoulder in frustration. I tell him the story of the bread, and the boy who saved my life. I'm careful to avoid making any mention of the impact Peeta's generosity had had on my re-introduction to hunting. When I'm finished, Haymitch simply raises an eyebrow.

"That's a mighty fine story you've got there, sweetheart, and the Capitol will eat that right up if we share that with them. But it doesn't_ really_ explain why you freaked like a virgin on her wedding night when Effie threw him into this thing."

I glare at him. "I didn't freak, Haymitch."

"Ok. Why you showed _normal human emotion_ when his name was called," he emphasised sarcastically. I roll my eyes.

"I dunno, Haymitch!" It's all I can admit to. "I guess …. I guess I just never thought I would ever be able to repay him. And now I can."

"By helping him survive," he surmises. I nod. We're quiet for a few moments, before I tell him what's been weighing on my mind since the minute we boarded the train.

"You need to help Hadley. I'm not going to be of any use to her," I tell him emphatically. "As much as I want to see her win too, I can't focus past repaying my debt."

"You can't do that, Katniss. We're in this together. You have to focus on her too. That one-minded focus won you your games, but it's not going to work here." I know he's serious when he doesn't call me sweetheart.

"That's not fair. You and I both know that last year, almost from the start, you knew I had more of a chance to come out. That my sponsor gifts were a little more…. Useful." He has the grace to look a little shamefaced at this.

"Yeah, ok. That's fair enough. But neither Hadley nor Peeta seem like walkovers this year. Baden needed a good kick up the ass half the time. I think I was more surprised than anything that he didn't fall off his marker and get himself blown sky high in the first 5 minutes." I tend to agree. I almost expected that myself. That he lasted to day 3 far exceeded my expectations of him. "But they're different this year. They're both like you." I shake my head.

"Don't compare them to me," I sigh, then stand. "Fine. I'll try as best as I can. But if Hadley wants to talk girly stuff, you or Effie are on call for that." I stalk down the hall towards my room, fling open the door, and make my way into my bathroom, closing the door behind me. I'm an expert with these showers now, and come out smelling faintly of honeysuckle - it's the closest I can get to a forest, I'm not particularly fond of smelling like a piece of candy – with my hair glossy and silky from the wind dryer. I sit down on my bed, and mull over my conversation with Haymitch. Ultimately, he was right. There was no way I could not try and help Hadley in any way I could. It would go against every instinct I had, everything I believed in, to give up on a person. Both my tributes deserved equal amounts of my time and consideration. But I couldn't help the part of me that was desperate to even the score between Peeta and myself.

_Who am I kidding? _There's more to it than this, more than I want to admit. I lay back and stare at the ceiling, and decide I can't lie to myself any longer.

But I would never _ever _tell Haymitch that….

_13 months ago_

"_Shit, Katniss, will you watch it?" Gale curses at me. He has every right to. I've been stumbling around the woods like a toddler gaining their feet for the first time. I can't concentrate. I lost an arrow already today because my aim was off. Now I've bumped into him, and he whirls on me, glaring._

"_Sorry! Sorry!"_

"_What the hell is your problem?"_

"_Nothing."_

_"Don't lie to me, Catnip," he warns, using my old nickname. He never tires of it, simply because he thinks it annoys me. I don't have the heart to tell him I got used to it a long time ago. I sigh._

"_It's….. it's the reaping." At this, he nods, and plonks himself down on the floor of the forest, and gestures for me to do the same. I sink to my knees beside him, my arrow still knocked in case I spot any game. It's so instinctual; I hardly notice I've done it._

"_You're worried about Prim," he states, running a hand through his dark hair. I'm always bemused as to how similar it is in colour to mine. We could almost be siblings._

"_Well, yeah, of course I'm worried about her. It's her first year."_

"_And you're worried about me."_

"_That's obvious too, Gale. You've got your name in there more times that I even care to think about. My only consolation is that if you don't get reaped this year, I never have to worry about you again. You'll be too old." He nods at this, then takes a deep breath before his next statement._

"_And you're worried about Peeta."_

"_I – WHAT?" I gape at him, a little stunned. He laughs._

"_You think I didn't know, Catnip? That I couldn't see how you always keep a look out for him? How you're always a little more….sombre when he's not at school?" I'm still gaping at him._

"_I'm always sombre, I don't know what you're talking about," I huff._

"_Keep telling yourself that. You might not realise it, but I certainly do. You have feelings for him."_

"_No. I. Don't. You __know__ why I keep an eye out for him," I claim through clenched teeth. I curse the fact I ever told Gale about the bread in a weak moment 6 months ago. Gale simply raises an eyebrow at me, and gestures towards my empty game bag._

"_That's not empty just because of Prim," he tells me. "Or that you're worried about me. It's him too. Admit it." I glared at him, mainly because he was right. But I refused to admit it. _

It had crept up on me unknowingly, and definitely unwillingly. In those final 6 months before I was reaped, I found myself searching for him in the schoolyard, looking at him through the bakery window rather than at the cupcakes with Prim. At first I simply thought it was curiosity, to see how the boy with the bread had grown up. But I would feel strangely disappointed when he wasn't at school or find myself watching the wrestling competitions just to see him, and once Gale vocalised his thoughts, I realised it was more than just a simple connection from our childhood that had me thinking about Peeta.

Being reaped put a stop to all of that. My sleep was full of nightmares; my days spent staring at the wall. Boys – especially Peeta Mellark – didn't enter my mind at all. Until exactly a year later. Now those strange feelings that I never wanted to examine are coming to the fore. And I'm as scared as hell, fiercely determined to keep them to myself. I won't act on them. They can stay locked away. Because I can't afford to let anything distract me from the responsibility of keeping my tributes alive.

* * *

I wake early the next morning. My sleep had been interrupted by visions of Rue, of Marvel, of Baden even, covered in blood and calling my name. My dreams are worse being back on the Capitol train, and I'm thankful the rooms on here are soundproofed. My tributes don't need to know yet what being a victor really means.

Haymitch and I spend the morning prepping Peeta and Hadley as much as we can. I run through the importance of gaining sponsors, while Haymitch blithely tosses out a sarcastic comment here and there. That's his version of being supportive. I can see Peeta and Hadley are taking this seriously, Hadley taking notes of all things, and Peeta watching us intently.

"But we don't actually speak to any of the sponsors, right?" Peeta asks. I nod.

"Only Haymitch and I interact with them. Or at least for the first few days anyway. Once we have the support of a few, I'll be working more from our quarters, determining the best way to distribute any funds between the two of you. Haymitch is better spurting bullshit to people than I am." Haymitch snorts from the other side of the room, where he's working his way through his fifth tumbler of liquor. I glare at him, then turn back to Peeta and Hadley. "I can't give you any idea on how, when or even if we'll be able to send you anything. It all depends on if we can get sponsors, what you need, and whether it's available – or affordable. Don't ever think we're not watching you, or that we're abandoning you. There are a lot of factors that go into this." I need to reassure them of this, after I felt so abandoned my first few days in the arena when Haymitch wouldn't send me water. He had his reasons – he knew I was close to finding a natural water source myself – and he knew what I could do. It was up to us over the next few days to determine how self-sufficient our tributes were going to be.

Haymitch sidles over to us, and plonks himself unceremoniously on the couch next to me.

"Enough of that sponsor crap," he demands. He points a finger at Hadley. "You. What skills have you got?"

"Um….. I can use an axe," she mutters. Haymitch raises an eyebrow disbelievingly, and she sits up a little straighter, indignant. "I can! When I was a kid, I watched Johanna from District 7 win her games with an axe, and I remembered that I'd seen one at my grandpa's when I was younger." How on earth her grandfather had gotten himself an axe – and _why_ he had one – was a question that couldn't be answered. "I thought, if that girl can use it, so can I. Once I turned 11, I knew I had a year til I could be reaped, so I would sneak the axe out of his house in the middle of the night and go and use it." I can see Peeta's jaw drop, and his cheeks colour.

"Where did you do this?" I ask, more than a little surprised. How had she never been caught by a peacekeeper?

"In behind the slagheap," she whispers, naming the not-so-secret make out spot of District 12. Haymitch laughs so hard he almost falls of his chair.

"Ah, you would have had some pretty visuals there!" he manages to squeeze out in between his laughter. Hadley rewards him with a slight half smile.

"There were times when I had to….hide to make sure no one saw me when they were 'busy', and wait til they were done before I came out again. But I knew it was one place peacekeepers wouldn't go. All I did was keep throwing the axe at whatever target I chose, until I got good, and it would stick. I've not had much experience with a moving target though." Haymitch has finally settled down, his laughs more like hiccups, and I sneak a glance at Peeta. He still looks a little shell shocked.

"Peeta and I spoke of his skills yesterday," I inform Haymitch. "He's on the wrestling team at school, and can lift over 100 pounds. He has plenty of strength."

"It's not a skill like Hadley has," he replies quickly, eyes downcast. Haymitch shrugs.

"Sweetheart here's right. Strength is a good thing to have in the arena. If you can get close enough to someone, and can take them down with you bare hands, that's an achievement." He downs another drink and looks at Peeta closely. "What you've got on your side, kid, is some personality. Some charm. The Capitol eats that up for breakfast. They love a suave, good-looking young guy, and I reckon you could pull that off. Be friendly to the citizens. Put on a smile. Wave. You might not have a skill in the arena, but working the sponsors before we even start? That's solid A game right there."

Despite Haymitch's words, I can sense Peeta is feeling a little overwhelmed by Hadley's admission, and I quickly change the topic, giving them a rundown of their first stop in the Capitol – the Remake Centre. They're a bit non-plussed by it all, but I know that will change as soon as they're on that cold prep table.

Eventually, I feel as if we have covered as much as we can. We have another three days of preparation with them, including their time in training, and I don't want to overload them before we're even in the Capitol. I hate having to be so responsible for them.

The minute we're done, Effie comes bustling in, as if she has been waiting by the door the entire time we've been talking. "Everyone, we're almost at the Capitol! Time to put all those boring thoughts out of your head and get ready to visit the most wonderful place in Panem!" She announces. I look at her closely. She looks the part, sounds the part…. But her eyes still tell another story. I remind myself again to corner Haymitch once we've arrived at the Training Centre.

Haymitch rolls his eyes and pours another drink. Hadley rises and joins Effie. For reasons that are beyond my comprehension, those two seem to get along. For someone from the Seam, Hadley seems to have the impeccable manners that I simply never had, and that probably ticks a few of Effie's boxes. I look over to Peeta, who glances away instantly. _Was he staring at me?_ I tip my head at him, indicating to the chairs at the far end of the carriage, and he follows me. I sit, and he does the same, sitting beside me on the couch.

"How are you doing?" I ask. He shrugs.

"I feel better now that we've actually talked a lot of stuff through. I'll be interested to see Hadley in the Training Centre." At that comment, I agree.

"You and me both. From what Haymitch has told me over the last year, there's never been anyone from District 12 who has actively trained for a Hunger Games before. Hardly anyone outside of a Career District ever does. I'm….blindsided by the fact that an 11 year old girl was pro-active enough to start thinking of the _possibility _of being reaped. Normally we're all too busy being scared to death to even want to think about the Games itself. I just guess we've got a pair of fighters this year," I tell him. He shrugs.

"So I can wrestle. Big deal. I'm a little more scared of Hadley now than I ever thought I would be," he says jokingly. But I know he's not joking. I can see a little bit of fear in his eyes. Before I even think about it, I place a hand on his knee and pat it reassuringly.

"Don't worry," I tell him. "We're behind you 100%." He nods slowly, his eyes darting down to my hand. I quickly pull it away, blushing furiously. Peeta coughs to break the awkwardness.

"Thanks for that. The, ah, vote of confidence," he says. "I think I'll just be better when I'm off this train, to be honest." I know it's a little bit of false bravado on his part, but I'm happy to indulge him.

"Oh, for sure. It may be fast enough that it doesn't _seem _like you're moving, but I know it doesn't feel right." He grins, and I can't help the little stutter my heart gives.

I'm thankful when I hear Hadley squeal, and the moment is broken. She's caught sight of the Capitol.

I sigh.

Let the games begin.

**A/N Thanks again for follows, favourites and reviews :) **

**I know it might be a bit weird for Hadley to have actively tried to gain herself some skills in the chance she was reaped, but I figured - why not? Plus, I wanted to give her a little depth rather than just being Peeta's random co-tribute.**

**Oh, and I know there will probably be some spelling differences in my stories (favour instead of favor etc), but I'm Australian, so I've gotta stick with how I've been taught to spell!**


	4. Chapter 4

_Peeta's POV_

I suppose I should be overawed by the Capitol. The brightly coloured spears towering into the sky, the expanse of brilliant blue water surrounding the city, the flashing lights that seemed to burst out of the buildings.

I didn't give two shits. Katniss's hand had just been on my knee and once again my concentration was shot. I'm going to die like a lovesick puppy in these games if I can't control myself around her. But it's not just that that's thrown me off.

Hadley's admission of her handiness with an axe is terrifying. Looking back now, I think of the conversation we had last night, and how I encouraged her to play the games like Johanna Mason. Little did I know then that she already had the idea there, and I'm kind of pissed that she didn't say anything at the time. But who am I to question her motives?

While her familiarity with the axe is great for her, it's not so much for me. I've got my strength, and some wrestling moves, but that's about the extent of my skills that could help me in the arena. Katniss told us there are plenty of stations in the training room for us to discover other skills, and I desperately hope that I'll find some hidden talent that will help me in the games. My lack of skills, added with my intense pre-occupation with Katniss, almost makes me feel like I'm a lost cause from the start. But Haymitch's last comment, about charm and personality and winning over the sponsors prior to entering the arena, has instilled a little hope in me.

I stand and make my way over to join Hadley at the window. I guess it _is _pretty spectacular. District 12 is nothing like this. I can see Haymitch watching us closely as we take in the sight. Hadley's face is full of wonder, and I'm a little concerned mine looks the same. I don't want anyone to know that I'm overwhelmed by the Capitol. I don't want to give them that satisfaction. As quickly as it appears, though, the Capitol is gone, and we've entered a long dark tunnel that I assume takes us directly into the annals of the city. The train slows, and we are in a station that is markedly different to the one in 12, and is packed with Capitol residents. At least I think that's what they are. They are hideously garish creatures, their faces covered in make-up and with clothes so outlandish I can't begin to think how they _ever_ thought they were a good idea, could be from another world for all I know. Effie Trinket looks almost tame compared to some of these people. And that's saying something.

I look back at Haymitch again, and our earlier conversation comes back to me. I slowly raise my right hand and begin waving at the crowd through the window. This sets them off, into waves of excitement. They're waving back, shouting, hollering 'District 12' at the tops of their voices. I can only assume our train has some kind of distinctive logo on it to announce where we're from. It burns a pit in my stomach that they're so happy to see a couple of kids about to die, but I need to put that feeling aside. I begin to smile back at them, and it seems like playing the crowd is a good move - out of the corner of my eye, I see Haymitch nod approvingly.

* * *

I manage to get 5 minutes alone with Hadley just before we leave the train. I'm still smarting that she didn't tell me about the axe beforehand, and I can't let it fester. I stand in her doorway with my arms crossed.

"Why didn't you tell me about you being able to use an axe on that first night? When I mentioned Johanna? It was a perfect opportunity to tell me. Now I feel like an idiot." She looks a little embarrassed, and very much like a 14 year old getting in trouble.

"I'm sorry Peeta. To be honest, I felt a bit weird sharing that stuff with you. I wasn't going to, but I guess once Haymitch put me on the spot, I had to say something. We're…. While I know we're teammates, we're also against each other, remember?" I shake my head emphatically. I'm a bit surprised by her words, especially considering how carefully Katniss' team worked on presenting a united front between her and Baden last year.

"Absolutely not, Hadley. There is no way I consider you an enemy, or foe, or anything like that. We might be going into the arena as Tributes to fight, but if we're in there, and I can help you, I will. I will never intentionally hurt you in there. And we need to be able to tell each other what our strengths are because of that. If we can help each other, we should."

"But what if it comes down to the two of us, Peeta? What if we're lucky – or unlucky - enough to get that far?"

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But unless we _have _to worry about it, I'm not going to." She sighs, and nervously tugs on her long dark ponytail.

"Ok. I know you're right. It's just…. I dunno. All this time I never thought I would have to consider someone else in the arena. It was always going to be me against 23 other kids. I've been so confused… I thought I was doing the right thing."

"In this kind of situation Hadley, there really isn't anything that is the right thing to do. There is no right or wrong. We've just got to make the best out of a crappy situation." She nods, and I'm thankful I was able to get this off my chest.

"Alright," she says. "Let's get off this train and go see what all this Remake Centre fuss is about. It doesn't sound like much of an issue to me."

* * *

_Much of an issue to me…_ _What an understatement._ I don't know how Hadley is currently feeling, but I am about to _die_. I feel a bit of sticky paste being applied to my chest, followed by a piece of paper and then feel it being ripped free, taking a strip of my fair blond hair with it. I've been poked and prodded and plucked and who knows what else. And now this. Three people – my 'Prep Team', including the guy with the purple lipstick - are slowly removing all the hair from my body. I'm beyond relieved when they leave my head, eyebrows and crotch alone.

Occasionally I'll get an "Ooh, you have such pretty eyes," or "Oh my god, look at the state of your nails," or "Do the people from your District not know how to cut their hair?". But mostly the team mutters between themselves. They seem nice enough, but I can't say I'm in a talkative mood when someone is putting your body through various elements of pain.

After what feels like hours, they finally announce me as ready to meet my stylist. They wrap me in a plush robe, seat me on a couch and exit as another person enters. Katniss already told me her name would be Portia. But it's a man who has silently come through the door. He definitely doesn't look like a Portia, or a Capitol stylist. He has caramel coloured skin, close-cropped brown hair, and is wearing a simple black shirt, vest and pants. His only concession to the outrageous fashions of the city was the gold line on his eyelids. Otherwise, he looked normal. Human.

"Hi Peeta, I'm Cinna, your stylist," he says, reaching out a hand to clasp mine. He sits down beside me.

"Hi. Nice to meet you. I was, uh, kind of expecting a girl." He laughs softly.

"Portia, yes. We were going to remain with the same set-up as last year, but as I'm still dressing Katniss for the interviews, and for any events while you're in the games, we changed our minds at the last minute. We thought it only fair that Portia gets the chance to work with some gowns this year. Not that your outfits won't be as nice," he assures me.

"I'm sure I'd look wonderful in a flaming red dress," I quip. Cinna smiles, and I can see why Katniss always spoke so highly of him in her pre- and post-game interviews.

"Yes, well, the fire _was_ an incredible idea last year. But we're thinking of something else to get the Capitol's attention for you and Hadley. Something a little more subtle, but no less spectacular." I'm not sure how something can be both subtle and spectacular, but I'm willing to go with it.

"Sure. Whatever you guys want to do. If it helps to get sponsors, I'm in." Cinna nods.

"Great. So, tell me a little about yourself, Peeta. Both you and Hadley made quite an impression on Portia and I at your reaping."

"Really? We did?"

"Oh, yes. Hadley managed to look so full of pride when her name was called, I'm sure the other Districts were quite surprised."

"We all were," I reply wryly. "But I wasn't very interesting," Sure, I may have looked like an idiot at the start when I didn't hear my name, but that's not exactly a good impression.

"Oh, but you were, Peeta. There's…..something about you that definitely stands out. But I digress. Tell me about life in District 12." I start to tell Cinna about home, not really understanding at first why he wants to know. But it gradually feels like I'm talking to a friend, and I understand what he's doing. He's getting me to trust him, and he's figuring out what kind of tribute I am. I'm learning he's intuitive, clever and seems to have an agenda. After seeing how he dressed the tributes for last years' games, and listening to him talk, I'm almost worried his agenda is to defy the Capitol. Which is such a ridiculous notion, I brush it aside immediately. Eventually, he rises, and crosses his arms across his chest.

"Right. It's time to get to work Peeta. We have an hour until the Opening Ceremony. Let's set these Capitol ladies hearts a flutter."

* * *

Looking down at my outfit, it looks pretty similar to the one Baden wore last year – a black one piece covering me from neck to toe, that looks like a cross between a unitard and body armour - and I'm confused. Maybe they changed their mind, and decided to stick with the fire again. Hadley – whose outfit is almost identical to mine - and Portia soon join us as Cinna and I wait in the big waiting hall with the other tributes. It's a noisy, cavernous room, with huge wooden doors at one end, where I'm assuming we exit and make our grand entrance.

The tributes are officially welcomed with an opening ceremony, where all 24 of us are paraded in front of the Capitol – and on television Panem-wide – dressed in elaborate costumes, riding chariots through the city centre, ending at the Presidents mansion. All I can remember of last years is how stunning Katniss looked on fire, and how terrified Baden looked, holding onto Katniss' hand for dear life.

I hadn't seen Katniss, or Haymitch, since we'd disembarked from the train and been shuffled along by Effie to the Remake Centre (Hadley and I had dubbed it Torture Chamber from Hell), and am surprised when they appear at our sides. Haymitch seems relatively sober and Katniss flustered.

"Are we ready to get this show on the road?" Haymitch yells over the din in the room. Cinna nodded, guides me onto the chariot, and reaches over to touch a spot between my shoulder blades. Portia mimics the action with Hadley. Suddenly my black outfit isn't just black anymore. It's softly glowing, as if a fire has passed and only the embers remain. Shimmering greys and blacks, almost like smoke. Soft reds and oranges, shifting over the body of my suit. It's pretty visually spectacular, but subtle at the same time. Just like Cinna said.

"You're a genius," I tell him. He smiles humbly. I sneak a glance at Katniss out of the corner of my eye, and she's staring at me. My heart beats a little faster, and I flick my gaze away before anyone catches me looking at her.

It's not long before we start our journey through the Capitol. It's almost our turn to exit the waiting room, and you can hear the collective intake of breath as the crowd waits impatiently to see what Cinna and Portia have created this year. We don't disappoint. The crowd loves our outfits, and the close link to last years' costumes. We don't hold hands like Katniss and Baden did last year, but we stand close to each other, wave in conjunction and give the impression of a united front. I don't think District 12 will ever present their Tributes as foes again.

We reach the Presidents mansion, and I finally get a good look at the other tributes. Some of the other stylists have taken their cue from Cinna, and have dressed their tributes up in lights or, in one case, a glowing gold dress. They may look fine, but they don't have the same flair or impact as Cinna and Portia's work. Once again, District 12 has outshone the rest, and you can see both disbelief and disgust on the other tributes faces that it has happened again. I look up in the direction of President Snow standing on the balcony in front of us, and a shiver runs down my spine. He doesn't look happy that it's happened again either.

Thankfully, things don't seem to take too long from here. Snow makes a short welcoming speech, and we are quickly returned to the waiting room, where our team is. Cinna, Portia and Effie are bubbling with excitement at how well it went for them again, Haymitch and Katniss a little more subdued, but seeming to be happy with how it played it out nonetheless. Cinna presses between my shoulder blades again, and my suit returns to its original black.

"Good work," Haymitch grunts to Cinna. Cinna smiles – evidently he's now used to Haymitch's lack of general social skills – and turns to Katniss.

"Girl on fire? What do you think?" Katniss pulls a face – I really don't think she likes the nickname – then smiles slightly.

"They looked terrific, guys. You've definitely given the other districts something to think about again."

"Yeah, they didn't exactly look happy about it, either," Hadley pipes up.

"Neither did Snow," I add, and both Haymitch and Katniss look at me carefully. Haymitch opens his mouth to speak, but Effie cuts him off.

"Come, tributes, we're dying to show you the penthouse. We can catch up on everything up there!" She leads us off, giving us no choice but to follow.

We're staying in the Training Centre, a tall elaborate building in the centre of Panem – I guess as a reminder that we're the focus of everyone for at least the next month. Tributes are allocated a floor determined by the district they live in, and by some stroke of luck, 12 is given the top floor. It would make more sense to me that 12 would be at the bottom, and District 1 would get the penthouse, but who am I to complain? Maybe they think by giving the outlying districts the upper floors with the majestic views from the wraparound windows, they're somehow making up for the fact we lead such downtrodden lives.

That, of course, would indicate that the Capitol cares. Which they don't.

The penthouse is even more opulent than the train, which I hadn't thought possible. Effie shows us to our rooms - Hadley's room is to my left, Katniss' directly across from mine, Haymitch beside hers. I don't know where Effie sleeps, but can only assume she has her own quarters off-site. I'm in there alone staring out the window at the Capitol below for about 5 minutes before Haymitch walks in, closing the door behind him. I turn and watch him slump in an armchair in the corner, before he pulls a flask out from inside his coat pocket.

"So kid. Nice work just then, and back on the train earlier," he starts before raising the flask to his lips. I shrug.

"You mentioned something about charm. I thought maybe I could pull that off."

"Ha!" he barks. "You'll charm the pants off them with those baby blues. You'll have them eating out of your hand."

"I just want them to like me enough to sponsor me, Haymitch. They can all keep their pants on," I reply drily. He snorts and laughs at the same time, almost spewing the alcohol he just drunk out onto the carpet. Effie would kill him if he had. "Seeing as Hadley suddenly became the next Johanna Mason, I need something up my sleeve." He waves this away.

"I wouldn't worry about that, boy. She might think she's a lumberjack, but we don't know for sure. And we won't until after her private training session with the game-makers and we see her final score. I told her not to give _any _indication to the other tributes that she's used an axe before. Like Katniss last year, let it be a surprise in the arena."

"Yeah, I think I pretty much told her the same thing," I say wryly. "But, don't you think the other districts might be a bit more clued in this year to that tactic? It was a few years between Johanna's ruse and Katniss'."

"Who cares? They're not going to know _exactly_ what weapon she can use. Anyway, most mentors rarely care about what happens outside of their district. You don't see them wondering every year if the boy from 4 is going to pull out a trident, do you?" I shake my head as Haymitch references Finnick Odair, a stunningly handsome victor from 10 years ago, who was deadly with a trident. "You know the difference between them? You know what Katniss had last year that Hadley doesn't? A story. Her volunteering for her sister? Priceless. Katniss couldn't charm her way out of a paper bag, but everyone in Panem saw her stand up for Blondie. And she had an 'I don't give a shit' attitude. You could see it in her eyes. She didn't care about the Capitol, and it showed. Although there's a good chance that's going to bite her on the ass later," he muses. I look at him, confused, and he simply returns my gaze, scrutinizing me, as if he's trying to figure something out. He stands, and leans in close to my ear. I can smell the alcohol on him, and wrinkle my nose.

"Follow me," he orders, and stalks out of the room.

He leads me up to the rooftop of the Training Centre, and this time I'm overawed and I don't care if my face shows it. Yes, I've got a magnificent view of the Capitol in all its glory. But it's the gardens up here that take my breath away. They're incredible. What seems like endless rows of colourful, flowering bushes - I wouldn't have a clue what they're named. My fingers itch for paper and graphite so I can commit it to paper forever, just as it is. The sun had long set over the horizon, and the shadows the moon casts across the gardens are a little mysterious. But that's not why I'm here. I glance over at Haymitch, who is staring over the ledge.

"How long have you been in love with her?" he starts suddenly. My heart leaps up to my throat, and I frantically try to push it back down again.

"What- What are you talking about?" I stammer. _Smooth, Peeta, smooth. _Haymitch snorts and turns to face me.

"You can't fool me, boy. I've been around long enough to tell when someone has feelings for someone else. You've been shooting puppy-dog eyes at Katniss every time you think someone isn't looking." Crap. It had always been so easy to hide back home, when no-one was watching me like a hawk, and Katniss and I were hardly within a 10 meter radius of each other. I let my shoulders slump.

"Um. Roughly since I was about 5." Haymitch raises an eyebrow. "Don't look at me like that. Ok, so it was pretty innocent at 5. But that's when it started." I tell him everything: the first time she was pointed out to me by my father, the time she sang The Valley Song at school and the birds stopped to listen, the bread. The times she used to come to the bakery door to sell the game she caught to my father and I would sneak glances from the back room. The way I watched the last games non-stop the entire time it was on, not wanting to go to sleep in case anything happened to her and I missed it. Seeing her come back, the same but changed beyond repair. I begin to launch into how beautiful she is, and Haymitch waves a hand, a grimace on his face.

"Eh, I don't care about any of _that _stuff, kid. How does she feel about you?"

"How does she feel about me?" I'm a bit surprised by this. "I don't think she really knew I was alive until the reaping. I mean, we went to the same school and all, but I don't think she's ever known what my name is. I don't even know if she knows it was me who gave her the bread that time. I'm pretty sure she feels nothing." He smirks, and it makes me think he knows something I don't. It's quickly replaced by a look that, on the face of someone sober, would be calculating. On Haymitch, it just looks like he's leering at me.

"I reckon you tell her how you feel. On stage in the interviews." I gape at him. That was the last thing I expected him to say.

"What? Are you crazy?" Haymitch laughs.

"Nope. What do you think Capitol residents love more than seeing kids kill each other?" I shrug. "Love stories, kid. They love a good romance. Think - between your physical attributes, your charm, and a little bit of unrequited love, the sponsors will be lining up to get to you. And it might soften the 'standoffish-ness' people associate _her_ with. 'The Mentor and The Tribute'. How frigging romantic." I'm still back at his suggestion to tell her how I feel.

"I've never had the guts to tell her at home. How can I all of a sudden tell her _on national television in front of everyone_?"

"Look, it all comes down to whether you want to live or die, right? If you want to live, give it a whirl. Might get you extra sponsors. If you want to die – then what's the harm in doing it? You'll be dead and you won't have to worry about the embarrassment." His offhanded comments on death are a little disconcerting – but also right. _These games are a matter of life and death. It was time for me to finally do something for once._

"Alright, Haymitch, deal. I'll do it. But if it backfires, it's on you."

"The results always on me kid, whether you live or die."

**A/N – There's really no Katniss/Peeta action in this one, sorry! But the situations Peeta was in didn't really make sense for me to bring in Katniss randomly just for the sake of it. I think the conversation with Haymitch progresses things for them anyway ;)**

**I don't own the Hunger Games, but I own a TV that I'm watching the Olympics on. Just saying.**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Katniss POV**_

I wake the morning after the opening events as exhausted as I was when I went to bed. Yesterday was a long, emotional day, from being on the train, to the opening ceremony. But more so because I had attended my first Mentor Gathering, and emotionally, I hadn't been completely prepared for it.

It was my first real introduction to being a Mentor. While I had spent some time with Haymitch prior to the Reaping to gather as much information as I could, and had effectively been providing advice to Peeta and Hadley for the last two days, it hadn't been 'official' until I had met with the other Mentors. And the Gamemakers.

"_You ready, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks. Peeta and Hadley have already been taken away to the Remake Centre, and we've only been in our quarters for about 15 minutes. I don't have time to settle in. We're heading to our first Mentor Gathering of the Games, and I'm vaguely terrified. I'm going to be in a room full of previous Victors, most of whom are seasoned professionals. Haymitch had caught me up to speed on who all this years' Mentors are, and the fact that some of them enjoyed the killing aspect of the Games a little __too__ much – they're the ones to steer clear of. But it's the Gamemakers that I'm more nervous about. These are the people directly responsible for my injuries, Rue's death….my nightmares._

"_Yeah, I guess," I reply. He nods, and leads me to the elevator, pressing the button to one of the basement levels._

"_Now remember, you don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to. You already set a precedent in your games by being highly unsociable-" I glower at him, but he simply ignores me, "-so they're not necessarily expecting you to be the talkative type. __But__, if you're going to speak to anyone, get on the side of one of the Gamemakers. If you can get one of them on your side, or at least a little sympathetic to you, it may pay dividends for Peeta and Hadley."_

"_Is there anyone in particular you recommend?" He thinks for a moment, before shaking his head._

"_No. I don't want to influence you. See it as a kind of…test. See if later, when we discuss the gathering, we come to the same conclusions." I shrug, and remain silent until the doors slide open._

_The room is full of people already, and I can see that we're one of the last districts to arrive. We get the once over by a number of them – looks of disdain geared towards Haymitch, curious glances for me._

"_Abernathy, you drunk fool!" Someone calls from across the room. Haymitch grins, and turns to me._

"_You're on your own. Do the rounds. I've got a friend to catch up with." I narrow my eyes to see who called out to him, and it's the mentor from District 11, a guy called Chaff. Haymitch had mentioned he was one of the few he actually liked. I wave him off, and wander aimlessly, studying my competition. I have no desire to speak to any of the other Mentors – conversing with them is going to be of no use to me. But Haymitch is right. The Gamemakers are the ones to speak to. I turn and immediately bump into someone. I don't even need to look closely at them to know who it is. I'd recognise that beard anywhere._

"_Crane," I start, nervously holding out a hand. He smiles, and clasps it. While his touch makes my skin crawl, I will myself not to wipe my hand on my clothes._

"_Katniss, how lovely to see you," he replies. He doesn't look evil, not on the outside. His eyes are a piercing blue – not soft and bright like Peeta's, but almost glacial, a little cold. His face is surprisingly handsome, and it's unnerving. You always imagine your enemies to be unattractive. "How are you finding your first Mentor Gathering?"_

"_Fine. It's interesting to be in a room with such…..talent." He smirks, and I know he recognises that I'm being sarcastic. _

"_True, true. I remember my first year as a lowly Gamemaker, how I felt being the young, new one, while everyone else was far more advanced than me." It's obvious he's playing games, his comment more geared towards me than any experience he may have had. I muster up the courage to try and give it back to him._

"_I'm sure it didn't take long for you to figure things out. Best some of the others at their own game." I can see amusement light in his eyes, and I think he's enjoying this. It mustn't be very often when someone isn't less than polite to him. We dance around unnecessary conversation, loaded with double meanings to throw the other off for a couple of minutes, before I see his attention drawn elsewhere._

"_You'll have to excuse me, Katniss. It was nice to catch up under social circumstances," he tells me, and abruptly leaves me alone. Now that he's gone, I realise my heart is pounding out of control, and my nerves leap to the fore. Talking socially with the Head Gamemaker was something I don't think I had fully prepared myself for._

"_Miss Everdeen?" I turn at the new voice, and see a portly middle aged man, with slicked-back, close cropped black hair. He's dressed relatively conservatively for a resident of the Capitol – it's a three piece suit, with an old looking chain hanging from the pocket of his jacket. Of course, the suit itself is yellow and magenta striped. But at least it's still recognisable as a suit. He looks vaguely familiar._

"_Yes?" I question. He smiles._

"_You don't remember me, do you?" I shake my head. "Well, let's just say I've avoided punch for the last year." It takes a moment, but it clicks. He's one of the Gamemakers. The one who fell into the punch in surprise when I shot the apple out of the pig's mouth in my session with the Gamemakers. I can't help it. A small smile appears on my lips, and his smile grows wider. "Ah, you remember now. Yes, that was definitely a show you provided us that night. I'm Plutarch Heavensbee, one of the Gamemakers. Well, second in charge, actually."_

"_Nice to meet you, Mr Heavensbee." Effie would be proud._

"_Call me Plutarch, please," he waves the formality away. I'm struck by how friendly he is. While I feel a vague sense of awkwardness and discomfort, he doesn't give off the same innate deviousness that I felt from Seneca Crane. Maybe this is my in. My road to making an easier games for my tributes._

"_Plutarch," I smile, pouring on what little charm I have. "What do you think of this years tributes?"_

"_Interesting. Definitely interesting. We'll see how things go in training and the interviews. But I'm not sure anyone is going to hold a candle to the Mockingjay." I tip my head, eyes questioning him. "Oh. You haven't heard people call you that?"_

"_What? No, no, I haven't. What do you mean? People are calling me a Mockingjay?" He nods enthusiastically, and I realise I really am oblivious to things I don't care about._

"_Oh, no, THE Mockingjay. Since you won last year, your district token has become a very popular fashion item. So much so that Capitol citizens have taken to calling you that. You know, sort of a nickname for you. Far catchier than 'Girl on Fire', don't you think?" he winks. I'm a little disturbed by this, but try not to let it show._

"_It's – strange. I'll have to tell Haymitch." _

"_I'm sure he's already heard it before. But, it will be interesting to see how your tributes fare this year, Katniss. They seem to be contenders, going by what I saw of the Reapings."_

"_Yes. We're thrilled by the tributes we have." I can't believe the words that are coming out of my mouth. I sound like I'm enjoying this. _

_I feel sick. I need to get out of here._

_As if Haymitch has sensed it from wherever he was, I suddenly find him at my elbow._

"_Katniss. I'd like to catch up before we meet Peeta and Hadley at the opening ceremony. You don't mind, Plutarch, do you?" _

"_Of course not, Haymitch, of course not. May the odds be ever in your favour," he smiles at both of us, and walks away. Haymitch turns to me, surprise on his face._

"_I didn't know you had it in you, sweetheart. Both the Head Gamemaker and his second in charge. You don't do things by halves, do you?"_

"_Seneca was an accident. Plutarch found me," I tell him, pursing my lips. "And what the hell is this Mockingjay business?" He laughs._

"_Ah, he told you that, huh? Yeah, that's one of the rumours I've heard going around. You've started a fashion craze, Everdeen." I laugh sarcastically._

"_Of course, that was my intention all along. Because I give a shit about what I wear." He shrugs, then looks at me with almost a sense of pride._

"_I've gotta give it to you. If I had to pick anyone for you to speak with, it would have been Heavensbee. So…..nice work."_

"_Really?"_

"_Yeah. He has a lot of influence, Katniss."_

_We'd left the Gathering not long after that, and Haymitch divulged what he had found out – which was relatively limited to inter-district gossip. I had time to reflect on what I'd just spent the last couple of hours doing – fraternising directly with people I hated so much – and I was flustered when we arrived at the waiting hall to meet with Peeta, Hadley and the stylists. It was made all the worse by Peeta, who looked incredible, and I'm glad Haymitch was already aware that I was out of sorts. He wouldn't be able to tell that I was affected more now by Peeta than anything a Gamemaker had said to me._

* * *

My exhaustion this morning is compounded by the fact that as soon as I am out of my room, Effie is fluttering about, wanting the tributes downstairs for training _'Yesterday! Don't you understand punctuality?' _God, the woman never stops. Haymitch is sitting at the dining table, shovelling food in his mouth, drink in hand. Hadley, despite the excitement of the night before and her bravado with her axe skills, is looking drawn, and I can tell the situation is starting to get to her. Peeta is quiet, probably the quietest I have ever seen him - he keeps shooting glances at Haymitch, who is studiously ignoring him. _Great. Another thing to question Haymitch about._ I can't help but breathe a sigh of relief as Effie leaves with Peeta and Hadley, promising to return them by late afternoon. I really don't care when she comes back. I simply want to lie down, and pretend I'm not even here. But I know I'm not going to get my way, so as soon as I see that he's finished his breakfast, I corner Haymitch before he can corner me.

"The roof," I mouth to him, pointing upwards. I'm not stupid enough to think the Capitol wouldn't be audio monitoring us right now. He grunts, and stands, pushing the chair backwards, and letting out a belch.

"You should be so thankful Effie isn't here right now," I mutter. He grins sarcastically, but follows me up onto the roof.

"What is it, sweetheart? Want to talk about the Gathering last night?" he yawns once we're as far away from the entrance as possible. It's the once place we know for sure that isn't under surveillance.

"No. I want to talk about Effie," I state. He shrugs.

"What about her? Something wrong with her? She seems the same prissy pain in my ass as always." I raise my eyebrows. Either Haymitch is losing his touch at reading people, or he's hiding something.

"Don't give me that, Haymitch. It's been on my mind since we were on the train. I can see it. She's different from last year. And don't lie to me, or make some crap up. What's happened?" He sighs, looks around as if he's considering something, before finally looking back at me.

"Look. She was just very…..invested in you returning from the arena last year. I think what you did for Prim really hit it home to her that the games are more than just that, a game….and over the last year she's probably been reflecting on that." I scrutinise him carefully, and shake my head.

"That's not all it is. There's got to be more to it than that. She seems _false_, Haymitch. Not in a bad way. In a 'she's not like she's from the Capitol anymore' way." He screws up his nose.

"Is it going to appease you if I tell you we're sleeping together?" he asks snidely. My mouth drops open.

"Ew, Haymitch. That's gross. Can't you ever be serious?" I groan. _What if he's telling the truth? Still disgusting._

"You asked for it, sweetheart," he snorts and shakes his head. "Look, there's nothing for you to worry about. Effie is, and always will be, Effie. That's all."I can tell I'm not going to get any more out of him – nothing serious anyway - so I nod reluctantly, and then remember what else I have to ask him.

"What about Peeta just before? He kept shooting you these weird glances, and I know you saw them and were ignoring them. You gonna tell me you're sleeping with him too?" Haymitch has just taken a swig from his flask, and spits it out at my comment, spraying it over the ground. I almost laugh. "I guess not. What is it then?" He glares at me, and defiantly drinks again before answering.

"God, drinking is becoming an occupational hazard around you kids. Look, we had a bit of a chat last night about his plan for the games. He's working the charming, effervescent young guy route. '_Sponsor me, because I'm good looking and friendly',_" he mocks, then shrugs. "That's all. I dunno what the looks are all about." I'm not sure whether to believe him, but it doesn't sound too out of left field. I decide to drop it.

We venture back into the penthouse – if things are too quiet in our rooms, the Capitol will be suspicious of where we are – and spend the rest of the day discussing our tactics for drawing in sponsors. We both agree that targeting the same people who sponsored me last year is the way to start. Mostly I just listen to Haymitch. I'm not going to argue with anyone who has over 20 years' experience doing this kind of thing. I'm surprised when Peeta, Hadley and Effie return to us. The day had flown by without me even realising it.

"So kids," Haymitch starts. "What's the deal? Who stands out this year?" Peeta and Hadley exchange a look, and I feel a lump rise in my throat. Peeta runs a hand through his hair before he starts.

"Um. No-one touched any of the weapons," he starts. I see Haymitch's jaw drop, as well as Effie's. It would almost be comical if I didn't know mine had too.

"What do you mean?" I ask softly, almost _too _afraid to ask.

"Well, no one touched the weapons that they'd be good with," he clarifies. I see Haymitch breathe a sigh of relief. "Most all went for the soft skills – you know, the plant recognition, snares, building fires etc. And if anyone used any of the weapons, it was all obviously weapons that they weren't familiar with. I think they've all figured out what your plan was from last year, just like I thought they would." Haymitch snorts.

"Eh, it doesn't matter anyway. I wasn't the first one to do something like that, kid. Like we discussed earlier, Hadley's hero Johanna is proof of that. No-one had any idea that girl could swing an axe until halfway through her games. And there were certainly others before her too. I'm not the first Mentor to play that, and I won't be the last. It just seems to be the thing to do this year. All this means is that everyone is going to be blind to what the others can do." There's silence as Haymitch finishes.

"But does anyone stand out? Did you pick up any skills that might be useful?" I pipe up. Surely we can take _something _out of todays training. Hadley nods.

"One and three stand out. The guys are big, and even using weapons they may not use all the time, it didn't take long for them to pick it up," she says.

"Hadley's right. Plus the girl from 4. She ended up creating some lethal looking snares. As for us…..Well, I guess all that time in the bakery has paid off." Haymitch and I look at him quizzically, until Peeta holds up his arm. It's covered in a mixture of oils, mud and berry juices, and plant life that makes his arm look almost like the trunk of a tree. I nod, impressed, and even Haymitch looks like he approves. "It's just like frosting a cake, really. Only…. Real." He smiles at me, and it sends a shiver up my spine that I quickly have to disregard.

"What about you, Hadley?" I ask. She shrugs.

"Not really. Maybe tomorrow I will, before we go to the Gamemakers." I see Haymitch has wandered off, seemingly no longer interested, leaving me to finish up.

"It doesn't matter. You've got your axe knowledge, remember. With Peeta's camouflage skills, you both have something. And if you pick up another aptitude tomorrow, then all the better." I feel awkward giving any more of a pep talk than that, and once it's evident I'm not going to be saying any more, Hadley leaves to go to her room. Haymitch is gone, and Effie has disappeared, leaving me alone with Peeta. I sigh – I am _really _over this mentoring business today – and look over at him. He absently scratches at his camouflaged arm, and then sits across from me.

"Do you want to talk about today at all?" I ask him. He shakes his head. "Do you want to talk about anything?" He thinks for a moment.

"What should I demonstrate to the Gamemakers? My strength or my camouflage?" I purse my lips, a bit unsure. I think it's pretty obvious looking at his broad shoulders, the way you can just see the definition of his chest beneath his shirt that the Gamemakers will know he's strong. And the camouflage… well, I don't think I can ever remember a tribute doing _that _in the arena.

"The camouflage," I finally tell him. "It's pretty obvious you're strong and built," I finish, before I even realise the words have come out of my mouth. I blush red, but he just smiles, his eyes twinkling.

"Thanks. Ah, it's what I thought I'd do too, so thanks for confirming it for me." He stands. "I'm going to get ready for dinner, wash this stuff off my arm. I don't want Effie to yell at me for bringing dirt to the table," he grins. I can't help but grin back. His smile is infectious, and as he walks away, I remind myself to tell him to play that up in his interview all he can. Haymitch is right - he'll have the Capitol eating out of his hand.

Now that I'm on my own, I make my way up to the roof, and the view is exactly as I remember from last year. It's beautiful, the one place in the Capitol where I feel relaxed, sane and untouched by the Gamemakers, by Snow - by anyone. I've dragged a blanket from my bed with me, and hope that the serenity of the area helps me to sleep. I've given up trying to sleep in my room. All it does is make my nightmares ten times worse, being back where it all started. I wonder how Haymitch has dealt with it all these years.

The late afternoon sun lulls me to sleep, and it's not until I hear a throat being cleared that I wake. I sit up, startled, to see Peeta standing at my feet, looking out at the horizon. It's dark- the sun set a long time ago.

"Sorry," he apologises. He brushes his hair off his forehead, but it springs back down almost immediately. It's almost endearing. "I didn't mean to wake you." I shrug, and wrap the blanket a little bit tighter around me. There's a slight breeze that's come up since I've been asleep.

"It's ok. I probably shouldn't be up here, but sometimes I…. struggle to sleep." He sits beside me, his knees bent and his arms hanging loosely across them, understanding evident on his face.

"Nightmares, right?" he asks. I nod hesitantly. "Don't be ashamed. If you weren't affected by it all, you wouldn't be human." No-one had ever bothered to say that to me and I hadn't really taken the time to think about it that way before. Too busy thinking I'm a murderer to think of anything else. He reaches over, and rests a hand on my forearm, as if to comfort me. It's warm, almost too warm, and I feel like it's branding my skin. I look up at him, and regret it as I lock eyes with him. _They're so blue. So open. So bright._ My breath starts to hitch, and before I think twice, I lean towards him, pressing my lips to his. He jerks slightly, and I pull away, embarrassed and horrified. _What the hell are you doing, Everdeen?!_

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," I mutter. He reaches out, and lifts my chin with his finger.

"I'm not," he whispers, and captures my lips with a kiss. It's soft and sweet and leaves me wanting more. I twist my body so I'm facing him more directly, and reach up, placing one hand on the side of his jaw, the other in his hair and I pull him closer, deepening the kiss. My eyes are still open, looking into his, and I can see desire clouding them. That is definitely unexpected. My heart is beating out of control, like I've been running, running, running, and my stomach fills with butterflies. Both our eyes seem to flutter closed at the same time; he slowly leans me back until I'm lying on the blanket again, and he's leaning on his left elbow so he doesn't crush me. He tears his lips away from mine, trailing kisses from the base of my neck to a little ticklish spot just below my right ear. I can't help the moan that falls from my lips, and he raises his head, looking down at me with eyes that have darkened to the deepest blue imaginable. The look in them pools heat in my belly, and I drag his lips back to mine. I can feel his hand slide up my ribcage, his fingers splayed wide, and I shiver in anticipation. '_Only a little further up', _I encourage him silently, my torso arching involuntarily with need. I'm almost shocked by how much I want him. I can feel him murmuring something against my lips, and I strain to hear him through the pounding in my heart and the blood rushing in my ears.

"Bloody hell, Katniss, what are you doing up here?" Haymitch suddenly bellows. I sit upright, shocked, and brush the hair out of my eyes. I look around. All I can see is Haymitch, who is standing beside me, confusion and annoyance all over his face. I feel a red flush creep across my face.

Peeta is not here.

"It's 10pm. I've been looking for you everywhere," Haymitch grumbles. I sigh, and stand, gathering the blanket from the ground.

"Sorry. I… I just have trouble sleeping down there. I thought it might be easier to get some sleep up here," I mutter. He almost looks apologetic.

"Oh. Sorry sweetheart. I didn't think of that. We were just worried. We didn't see you for dinner, then couldn't find you. I'm not sure why we didn't think of looking up here before." I shrug, and follow him back downstairs. I'm kind of glad he didn't find me earlier.

I'm embarrassed with myself, and can't believe those thoughts were actually in my head. As hard as it is to admit, I can honestly say that was the best dream I've had in a year. Maybe ever.

* * *

Hadley showcases her skills with an axe and Peeta uses his camouflage when they have their private session with the Gamemakers the following night. After my 11 last year, we shouldn't be surprised by any scores our tributes get. But for them both to get 10 just blows me away. The only other person to score a 10 is the male from 1. Rarely do two tributes from the same district garner scores in double digits. Effie, Portia and Cinna are shrieking in delight, Haymitch just looks frustrated.

"What is it?" I whisper to him. He shakes his head, and I don't know whether this means nothing, or not to worry. But we can't discuss it here, in front of the others anyway, so I let it lie. We wait until they've gone to bed, and sneak back up to the roof. I look at him expectantly.

"I knew they'd do this," he suddenly bursts out. I'm confused, and wait for him to finish. "They're _punishing _us," he spits out. This still doesn't make it any clearer to me. He starts pacing, and then abruptly sits on the ground. He gestures for me to join him. I do so.

"What, they're punishing Peeta and Hadley by giving them good scores? I don't understand what you mean. Why would they do that? Don't you think they could have had really spectacular sessions with the gamemakers? You saw how Peeta was with the camouflage. And maybe Hadley really is a pro with the axe," I start. He shakes his head sadly.

"It might have helped…..but I really don't think so. I haven't wanted to say anything before. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this." He takes a deep breath, as if what he's going to say next will be difficult. My body tenses with a dread I don't understand. "I've been hearing rumours for a while now. I heard more at the gathering. The Capitol is mighty pissed with you, sweetheart. They're even pissed with me. Tributes from 12 aren't supposed to win. They're not supposed to take stands the way you did." I'm shocked by this. What the hell did _I _do?

"What are you talking about? I didn't do anything!" He snorts.

"Oh sweetheart, you did practically everything _except _nothing. Your friendship with Rue? How you paid tribute to her, and sang to her, and thanked District 11 for the bread? How you and Foxface never killed each other, despite running into each other on numerous occasions? Outwitting the Careers at every turn? You weren't scared to voice your hatred of the games when you were in the arena either. The Capitol _hates _it when people are negative towards their pride and joy. All this combined with your distinctly un-sunny nature, the costumes Cinna put you in, after I agreed to them? And the icing on the cake - the berries?" He pauses for a second, while I think back to my final days in the arena.

_I know Thresh is dead. All that's left is Cato, Foxface and myself. I know I should be surprised – like I'm sure the rest of the Capitol is – that Foxface is still here, but I'm not. I saw her in training, and I know she figured out the Careers stash was booby trapped. Someone can't go this far in the games by chance._

_I'm starving, and I know there is a good chance that if one of the others don't kill me, hunger will. I haven't seen a parachute in days, and game is almost non-existent. I almost yelp when I see berry bushes up ahead, and I rush to them, plucking them off randomly. I roll one around in my fingers for a minute, studying it's deep red, almost purple, skin. I sigh. Nightlock._

_I throw them on the ground, and wipe my hands on the hem of my shirt. Of course, the only edible food the Gamemakers would make available at this stage would be poisonous berries. I look at them a little closer, an idea forming in my mind. The only reason I knew they were poisonous was because my father had drilled it into me at a young age._

'_Never eat these, Katniss. They're Nightlock, and they're deadly. One bite and they can kill you. Don't even think about it, ever, even if they do look pretty.'_

_Someone from a career district may not know that they're poisonous, and if they're as hungry as I am, they might just eat them. Someone like Cato, who has never had to scavenge to find a meal in his life. Maybe, just maybe, if I can get close enough to him without him seeing me and drop them on the ground, he may eat them…._

_I quickly grab a handful and put them in my pocket. No harm in being prepared. I'm just about to reach down and grab some more when I hear the canon sound. I look up, and around, waiting with baited breath to see where the hovercraft will appear. It's not that far away. I see the retrieval claw make its way to the ground, and return to the hovercraft with the tribute in its grasp. I see the glint of red hair, and my heart sinks when I realise its Foxface._

_I make my way towards the direction she was taken from, careful to listen out for sounds of Cato. I don't sense any sign of him, and soon come across a small makeshift camp. All I can see is the small mound of berries on the ground._

_I guess even with knowledge of plants and nature, even the trickiest berries can get us sometimes._

_It takes another two days for Cato and I to come face to face, and it's on top of the Cornucopia. We're both ravaged by starvation and injuries that aren't healing. He has a deep gash in his cheek, and another in his side, and it's this injury I take advantage of as we grapple with each other, rolling dangerously towards the edge and the hungry mutts that are snarling and growling below. Cato howls as I dip my fingers into the gash, and he jerks backwards, his eyes wide in terror. I'm almost in shock as I see him slide off the edge, towards the waiting mutts._

_They don't finish him off. I hear him sobbing and yelping softly for what feels like hours, days, as they tear at his flesh in a slow but controlled manner. Almost as if they've been directed to draw it out for as long as they can for the enjoyment of the Capitol. I've been lying here on the top of the Cornucopia, the temperature dipping lower and lower, my teeth chattering. I don't know how much longer I can take it. I shove my hands in my pockets to keep them warm, discover the long forgotten berries, and realise as much as Cato is my enemy, I don't want him to continue to suffer the way he is. I peer over the ledge, and I immediately lock eyes with him. Or eye at least. I can see the pain in it, and realise that another reason it's taking so long is the body armour he is wearing. The mutts can't get through it completely. I judge my aim, and think I can do it._

"_Cato," I call. "Eat this, please. Don't suffer anymore." I throw a handful down, hoping that at least one or two fall in the vicinity of his face. I'm in luck. One falls miraculously in the hollow of his throat, and I see his hand fight to move through the bodies of the mutts. His fingers finally grasp it, and I see the realisation hit. He catches my eyes again, before closing his and placing the berry between his lips._

_The cannon sounds._

Haymitch interrupts my thoughts. "The Capitol sees all that as a bit of rebellion against them, sweetheart. And I think they want to pay us back by going for our tributes."

"But – I just wanted to put him out of his misery! It could have taken days for the mutts to work their way through the body armour. I was just thinking of him. And he didn't have to eat it anyway." He shakes his head.

"That's just it, sweetheart. You don't get to do things on your own terms when the Capitol is involved." He stops, and studies my face. He knows it's finally sunk in, and I'm horrified. Actions I didn't think twice about, that were so instinctive and never in my wildest nightmares would have ever considered them to be rebellious _were going to get my tributes killed._ _I was going to be directly responsible for Peeta dying._

"But why take it out on them? Why not me?!" I ask.

"Taking it out on them _is_ taking it out on you. As much as you don't like to admit it, you have compassion in spades, sweetheart. Seeing your tributes murdered early on in the games, being the focus of everyone else in that arena? He's betting on you wilting. Surrendering. Losing that fighting spirit."

"I won't do that!" I slap my hand on the ground, almost like having a temper tantrum. "I don't care what he does!"

I'm completely and utterly confused. Why, after all this time, did Snow want to exact revenge on me? Haymitch speaks, as if he already knows the question I want to ask.

"For the first 6 months, everyone was still in love with you after winning. The unassuming victor from District 12. Then it was the Victory Tour, and he certainly couldn't do anything then. And before he knew it, the games were upon us. He probably sees it as the perfect opportunity to start it all."

"What do you mean, start it all?" I ask suspiciously. He waves it off.

"Look, sweetheart, the bottom line is, until Snow sees fit that you've suffered enough, he'll keep taking it out on your tributes. I'm just hoping we can fend him off before things get much more serious."

He says little after this, and I go to bed, Haymitch's words running through my head. The more I think about it, the more I know he's right. I finally understand what Haymitch meant when he told me I might be a Victor, but I'd never won. I would never win in the games of the Capitol.

* * *

**A/N – Thank you for such wonderful reviews, and the favourites and alerts. We all know reviews keep us going **

**I think I re-edited this chapter about 20 times, as there was so much I wanted to include…. I was keen to have Katniss meet Seneca and Plutarch, even for a short time. I hope where landed does it all justice. And I know I used a fair bit of flashback in this one too, but I wanted to cover off on some of Katniss' experiences as both a mentor and tribute. **

**I don't own the Hunger Games, but I own a pair of boots that make me feel like Katniss when I wear them.**


	6. Chapter 6

_Peeta POV_

Tomorrow Hadley and I enter the arena. All we have left are a few hours of prep time with Katniss, Haymitch and Effie, and our interviews. Then it just comes down to how long we can last against 22 other teenagers whose aim is to kill us.

Over the last few days, I've almost come to terms with the fact that I may not come out of these games alive. At first I didn't think about it at all – I was distracted by Katniss, and the small belief that I had a chance. But the sessions in the training centre brought my mortality to the fore, and I realised that everything that Haymitch and Katniss had told us, all the tricks in the book, may not even give me an opportunity to live past tomorrow. But I'm ok with that.

Because today I'm telling Katniss how I feel, and while I may not live to be a victor, I know that if I die, it's without regret.

I spend the morning with Effie, and she seems to be in exceptionally, abnormally high spirits. I like Effie, but there always seems to be something… amiss with her. I'm not sure what it is. She drills me on what to say and how to say it, but soon announces that I don't need that much prepping.

"I can't tell you how _thrilled _I am that I got two such wonderful, polite tributes this year. Your table manners are impeccable, and you're both so well spoken! Well, Hadley is when she speaks, she's so _quiet_, but I think that plays her favour. When she does speak, it will be important and people will listen," Effie chatters. It's almost like she doesn't care that I'm not really listening, she's just talking for talking's sake. She comes over and smooths back the hair on my forehead. "You're just such as nice boy. Potential sponsors will love you!" I nod. I hope so. They're really my only chance of getting out of here alive.

"Thanks Effie. I've really appreciated all your help over the last few days," I say. She looks perplexed, and a little taken aback. A genuine smile crosses her face, and I'm surprised at how pretty and young she actually is when she reacts like a normal person.

"That's the first time I've ever had a tribute say that to me," she sniffles. She pauses, a faint gleam in her eye, and somehow I know she's thinking of her words carefully. She knows as well as I do the Capitol is listening. "It's our job to make sure we do our best to bring you out of the arena. Please know that everything I do is in your best interests, no matter how strange they seem. May the odds be ever in your favour, Peeta Mellark." We're interrupted as Haymitch comes barging in to my room. Effie looks up at him indignantly.

"Go, Effie," he mumbles. "It's your turn with the little girl. Go and teach her how to walk or something." Effie glares at him, but leaves the room promptly. Punctuality is still her golden rule. Haymitch waits for her to leave, then tips his head towards the door. I'm assuming we're going to the roof, and I quickly follow him.

"Where's Katniss?" I ask as soon as we're up there. "I thought you were doing this part of today together?" He looks a little pained at this, and rubs his eye for a second, almost as if he's composing himself.

"She's…. resting. And I'm trusting you with this, kid. You can't say anything to _anyone_. I mean it." I've got no idea what he's alluding to, but I nod. "The Capitol is pissed with Katniss." I look at him, confused.

"What do you mean? What did she do? She's hardly left the penthouse!"

"Not today, not this week. Last time. Her games. She did some things that make Snow think she's intentionally rebelling against the Capitol, even though that thought wouldn't even have entered her mind. After seeing the scores you got from the Gamemakers, and some rumours I've been privy to, I'm dead certain they're set on some sort of retribution against her, against us." He runs through everything that Katniss has done that the Capitol could see as rebellious, and while I think it's ridiculous that such simple acts of human kindness, inventiveness and enduring strength could infuriate a President so much, I can see why the manipulative Snow could see her acts as rebellious. "In short, the Gamemakers are probably going to make it harder on you and Hadley than they normally would. Their focus is going to be on the two of you more than anyone else."

"So, why are you telling me this? It's not really the pep talk I was after," I ask. He pauses, and I have a feeling what he's about to tell me isn't going to be pretty.

"That's only the start, boy. Finnick Odair is a favourite of the Capitol," he begins. I'm confused with the topic change, but I let him go with his train of thought. "He was a revelation when he won, and the Capitol citizens ate it up. He was their Golden Child. Until he turned 17. Then he became their Golden Man. You know how you always see him with a different woman every time they interview him, every time he returns for the Games as a Mentor, or as a guest?" I nod. "They're _paying _for it, Peeta. Do you understand what I'm saying?" I mull over what he's said, and it takes me a full minute for realization to dawn. _They're selling Finnick over and over again, to the highest bidder._

"Do you…. Do you mean _sexually_?" I ask, almost hesitantly. He nods. "What the hell!? Why? Who would do something like that?" Haymitch reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, and pulls out his ever present flask. I'm almost tempted to snatch it off him and drink it myself.

"Snow would, kid. Finnick never did anything wrong, per se. But he was exceptionally popular, more popular that any victor from any of the games. There were riots in the streets when he was here, and the ladies in their laced-up corsets would go insane if they were within 5 metres of him. The Capitol was concerned that if he was ever found to be in a relationship with someone, they wouldn't be able to control the reactions of the citizens. Women – and men – were _obsessed_. So they threatened him. Appease the residents of the Capitol…. Or his family would suffer. And the Capitol doesn't joke about things like that. Finnick took the option that would keep his loved ones from harm."

"So he agreed to… to have sex with people to save his family?" I whisper. Haymitch nods his head sadly. "So….. what does this have to do with me, with Katniss?"

"When I told her my suspicions that the Gamemakers were going to take their retaliation out on you and Hadley as tributes, she got that fired up look in her eye, and locked herself in her room. I haven't seen her since, and I figure she's best left on her own at the moment. But I wasn't able to tell her the rest - that I know exactly how the Capitol works. I've seen it happen before. While not every Victor experiences the same treatment as Finnick – though he's not the first to be used that way – there are others who the Capitol wasn't happy with after their games who have been… controlled or ruined in some way. Unless you turn into a morphling or a drunk bastard, and eventually they just don't care." As Haymitch says this, it dawns on me that he doesn't just use alcohol as a crutch to ease whatever pain he holds from his games, and from 24 years of mentoring. It's his way of making sure the Capitol leaves him alone.

"Never ending torment is more the Capitol's style, not instant gratification," he continues. I can hear something in his voice that confirms he has experienced a form of retribution from the Capitol at some stage, but I'm not game enough to ask. "I didn't have the heart to tell her I'm pretty damn certain the _real _punishment for what they perceive as her rebellion, is that they're going to force her to do the same as Finnick."

He pauses to let the gravity of his words sink in, and I can see his own anger in the set of his jaw. My heart drops and I feel my blood start to boil as the realisation of what he's saying sets in, but I force myself to listen to him as he continues.

"I'd heard the rumours about it, but I was hoping that's all they were – rumours. I really should have known better. They're hard to ignore now after those training scores. They're going after you and Hadley, and then they're going after her. But if they make her do it, she'll do it. She'll hate it, and will curse the Capitol til her dying day, but the Capitol knows her family is her weakness. They saw her volunteer for Prim. If they threaten her with Prim's life – and I'm damn sure that's the route they're going to take - they know she'll do anything to keep Blondie alive. Our Katniss is a popular girl. Not as popular as Finnick of course….. But that, combined with the fact that the upper echelon of the Capitol seems hell-bent on ruining her, I think as soon as she turns 18, they'll have her ready to be their next plaything. That's their ultimate form of degradation." I'm practically choking with rage as Haymitch tells me this, my hands clenched into fists. _The Capitol is going to turn the girl I love into a prostitute_.

"Why are you telling me this now, Haymitch? What can I do about it? I'm going into the arena tomorrow!"

"Remember what I said about the Capitol loving a nice old-fashioned romance almost as much as the Games?" I nod. "Well, boy, that's the only reason I'm telling you this right now. It's gotten a lot bigger than just you declaring your love for her tonight. Because of that, you're the only one who can save her."

* * *

After my conversation with Haymitch, my mind is swirling, but I manage to calm my anger and lock it away. What he wants me to do makes more sense now than ever before. If I can get the citizens of the Capitol to love me, and make them realise that I love Katniss, then there's a good chance that we can avoid her being sold. Haymitch's reasoning is that the citizens would _hate _to see a couple they love torn apart, if the pathetic Capitol television soap operas are any indication to go by. Of course, it also relies on me winning the games, which I can't guarantee. For now, I have to leave most of the work in his hands.

I can't help but want to see her. She may not want to see me, but I can always pull the 'You're my Mentor, I need to talk' card if she refuses. I rub my damp palms on the thighs of my pants, and knock hesitantly on her door. No answer. I knock again, a little harder. I hear a thud from behind the door, and it suddenly swings open. She glares at me, a face like thunder.

"What?" she snarls. I'm a little taken aback by the venom in her voice. I expected her to at least be a _little _upset about what Haymitch told her.

"I, uh…. I wanted to talk to you. About the games. We missed you in our preparations today."

"I'm sure Haymitch did more than enough," she grumbles. She's still blocking entry into her room, one hand on the door frame, the other gripping the edge of the door. It's that which finally tips me off. Her knuckles are white, the tension in her fingers obvious. She's upset but she's masking it, and part of me is glad to see she's pulling it off. Well, almost anyway.

"I wanted to speak to you. You're a little more….friendlier than Haymitch." She snorts at this, but I can see the defensiveness drop from her eyes. She lets out an almost inaudible sigh, and holds the door open wider. I shake my head.

"Do you want to go outside? Get some fresh air?" I ask. She looks at me strangely, before realisation dawns. She nods, and follows me out of her room and up onto the roof.

"You're a smart one, Peeta Mellark," she announces. "How did you know they don't have surveillance up here?"

"Ah, Cinna mentioned it once." I'm hesitant to say that it's because Haymitch told me. She nods, and meanders around the gardens for a moment, occasionally reaching out a hand to touch the blossoms on the shrubbery.

"So what did you want to talk about?" she starts. _Shit. I didn't think of that._ I'm silent for a moment while I think up a good excuse.

"I wanted to get your opinion on how Haymitch thinks I should conduct myself in my interview." Ugh. It's the best I can do.

"I thought we all already know you're going the charming route, because it's easy for you to pull off?" she questions. I smile, an idea playing around in my head.

"Do you think I'm charming, Katniss?" I see her eyes flash and she looks away.

"What do I have to do with it? It's not like I can sponsor you."

"But I'd like your opinion anyway." She sighs and crosses her arms, her frustration with me evident. _God, is it bad that when she's pissed off it really turns me on?_

"Yes, Peeta, you are. As your Mentor, I strongly advise you to use that smile of yours as often as you can. And there's a little look you do out of the corner of your eye. Use that too." I can't help but grin, and look at her out of the corner of my eye. I like that she's noticed this before. She smiles reluctantly. "Yep, that's it right there. Use that. The citizens will love that."

"Ok. I guess the Mentor is always right. Can I ask another question?"

"Fire away."

"How do you feel about honesty?"

"Huh? What of it?"

"Should I be honest in my interview with Caesar?" She looks confused.

"I dunno. I guess so. What have you got to lie about?" I smile again.

"I've got nothing to lie about at all. I'll be 100% honest with everything I say in my interview, Katniss." I look at her carefully when I say this, and hope that she will realise when I announce to the world that I love her, that it's the truth. She shrugs, not aware at this moment how important my words are.

"Alright then. Is there anything else?" I can see her start to close in, the walls coming up. It seems I can only distract her for so long from what Haymitch spoke to her about.

"No, that's all. Thanks for your time," she nods her head, and leaves the roof. I'm left alone with my thoughts, and continue to hope that the advice Haymitch has given me will be able to help her.

* * *

I spend the rest of the afternoon being primped and preened by my prep team. I've continued to keep the irritation and anger I'm feeling banked, and I need to keep it that way. I've got to ensure that there is no way how I'm feeling about the Capitol will show while I'm on stage with Caesar Flickerman for my interview. Cinna seems slightly suspicious of me while he dresses me in my outfit, but doesn't say anything. He's close with Katniss, and I wonder if she has confided in him about what she knows. I know he helped prepare her earlier – he was the only one she allowed into her room after we spoke. Surely he would've noticed how angry she was after Haymitch's revelation to her. I'm almost thankful he didn't get to tell her everything, as things could be ten times worse.

"Ok, Peeta, we're all done," Cinna finally says, and turns me to face the mirror. My prep team had taken me back to Beauty Base Zero to remove the few bruises I'd picked up in training, and styled my hair so that it was pushed back away from my face. It looks… different. I prefer it a little less structured, but what do I know about hair, really. My outfit on the other hand…

Cinna has put me in a dark grey suit that looks like the ash that settles after a fire has died. The shirt he's paired it with is black, with thin pale orange stripes. He's forgone a tie, and has left the top button on my shirt undone. It looks effortless, and makes me look far more attractive than I am. The grey and black perfectly complement the outfit I wore for the opening ceremony, and I have to marvel at how good he is at his job.

"It looks terrific, Cinna. Thank you. I can only hope it leaves an impression on some sponsors," I tell him. He smiles.

"Thank you Peeta. I'm sure you'll leave an exceptionally lasting impression, on more than just the sponsors." I look at him quizzically, and he just smiles again. Cinna is a genius, but he's certainly strange sometimes. He's quiet for a few moments, and then he speaks softly, so softly I can hardly hear him.

"Do you know about Katniss?" I turn and look at him, glaring. If he's talking about what I think he is, I don't think my room is the ideal place for this kind of conversation. He nods in understanding, and lightly takes my elbow, leading me into the bathroom. He quickly turns the taps on as far as they'll go in both the shower and the sink. "They don't have listening devices in here, but the ones in the bedroom can pick up any conversation that's held in here – unless drowned out by the water," he explains quickly. I brush this aside.

"You know about Katniss as well? Did Haymitch tell you?" He shakes his head.

"No. I'd heard those rumours too, just like he had. If he's told you, it must be serious. It also means he trusts you. I need you to tell him that whatever is on – I'm in."

"What do you mean?" I ask. He sighs, and leans against the countertop.

"I know Haymitch won't let the Capitol do this to Katniss, and neither will I. I get the feeling you won't either, and that's why I figured he would have said something to you. So you need to know that whatever is planned to help prevent this atrocity befalling Katniss, I'm behind you 100%." I'm silent for a moment, trying to comprehend what Cinna is saying to me.

"I don't know what you think I can do, Cinna. As of tomorrow, I'm in an arena, fighting for my life. I'm useless."

"It doesn't end tomorrow. There will be more that you can do. I think you have enough motivation to come home, Peeta," he replies.

"And like the other 23 tributes don't?" I don't see how I can be considered any different to the others.

"Of course they do. But….Like I said the first time I met you…There's just something about you. You'll be able to do more for Katniss than you can imagine."

He takes a deep breath before continuing. "Did Haymitch tell you about himself, and his games?" I shake my head. "If you get a chance tonight, watch them. Effie can get you the footage if you want to. Ask for a couple of different years, say it's for research, to get some tips. Tributes do it all the time from other Districts; they may see it as you taking some initiative, and if sponsors hear about it…. They'll lap it up. If you do decide to watch it, ask him what the Capitol did to him. It may give you more of an idea of why I know Haymitch will do everything he can to stop anything happening to her." My head possibly can't take much more of this, and I can't think of anything to say that would make the slightest bit of sense. Eventually though, I can't help but shake my head in disbelief.

"I was right. You do have an agenda." He chuckles, and nods slightly.

"Yes, though I'm not entirely sure what it is yet. Hopefully I'll know more soon enough."

"Well, I'll try and make sure Haymitch knows you're… on board. Other than that, all I can tell you is that tonight I'm taking the first step of measure." He looks at me curiously, but doesn't prompt me any further, for which I'm thankful. I'm trying hard not to think too much about what I'll be saying tonight.

We turn the water off, and head out of my room. After this, I'm even more nervous, and I'm ready to get this interview over and done with. We join the rest of my team in the foyer of the penthouse, and I've got to applaud both Portia and Cinna on how they've made us all look. Hadley looks amazing, and far older than 14. Portia has dressed her in a sleeveless silver gown, that's shot through with the same thin orange stripe as my shirt, just very thin and very faint. It's fitted at the top, and the skirt falls just below her knees, where it flutters when she moves, like smoke. But while Hadley looks terrific, Katniss is a vision, and I literally have to force myself to not look at her with my mouth agape.

The dress is in her signature Girl on Fire red. It's long, and ripples along the floor behind her when she walks. The back dips low – so low that I have to refrain from reaching out and touching the small dimple at the base of her spine – and the front is styled with a wide neckline that sits just below her collarbone, with short little sleeves that cap just over her shoulders. Her hair is in an elaborate braid, and her eyes are dark and smoky. She looks dangerous. She looks like no-one could ever tell her what to do. She looks like she would defy everyone and anything if she wanted to.

She looks incredible.

Cinna fusses over Katniss and Portia fusses over Hadley, and it gives me the opportunity to corner Effie. She looks a little surprised at my request, but promises to have tapes of the years' I want waiting for me in my room when I return.

She escorts us downstairs, where we make our way into the back stage area of the amphitheatre where the interviews will be held. Katniss, Haymitch, Effie and Cinna leave us there, to go and sit in the audience with the other Tributes' support teams. Hadley and I are now alone with the other tributes, who, judging by the glares sent our way, still seem to be holding grudges against us. I've felt it all week, all through training. I know we're the Number One targets.

District 12 always goes last, and Hadley and I watch from backstage as tribute after tribute is interviewed by Caesar.

The others have varied personalities, and ways of playing to the audience. The boy from 1, Gage, is arrogant and cocky, exactly how I remember him from the reaping. The girl from 4 is sly and snarky and I can't help but think that her name – Wylee – is almost apt. And the small girl I saw on the reaping replay, Neve from 8, is the epitome of innocence. Hadley's name is called, and she glances at me before she steps up. I squeeze her hand in encouragement and she makes her way onto the stage.

She does incredibly well. She's always been quiet, but I think she handles herself well with Caesar, giving the impression of a sweet young girl with a spine of steel. I definitely think she's won herself some fans with her interview. I know, deep down, that Hadley is going to be a force to be reckoned with.

Finally, I hear Caesar call my name, and I step out onto the stage, into the light. The amphitheatre is packed, with what looks like thousands of people. I raise my hand and wave, and the crowd goes crazy. I scan the front few rows, and find my team. I make note of where they are, so I can look at them during the interview to gauge how I'm going. Caesar gestures me over, and shakes my hand. After a few enthusiastic pumps of my arm, he guides me to the couch and I take a seat.

"Peeta! Peeta Mellark, how are you? How is the Capitol treating you?" he starts. I smile.

"Fine, just fine, Mr Flickerman," I reply. He grins, and waves me away with a hand.

"Oh, none of that, Peeta! We're friends! Call me Caesar," he looks out to the audience. "What a charming young man!" They cheer in response.

"Thank you Caesar. My escort, Effie, places a high importance on manners," I say, and grin out at Effie. I can see the shock and delight in her face, as she gaily waves at the audience. She's thrilled at her moment in the spotlight.

"Oh, yes, Miss Effie Trinket. Such a lovely lady! You've got yourself a wonderful District Escort there," he shifts forward in his chair, resting his arm on his knee. "Now, Peeta, let's get down to business. What's struck you the most about the Capitol since you arrived?" I pause, as if I'm thinking exceptionally hard about the question.

"Well, the Capitol is certainly different to my home, Caesar." _What I really want to say is 'It sickens me the way you all celebrate something so barbaric'._

"Oh?" he asks, intrigued. Tell me how." I decide to play it up – I think Caesar appreciates a fellow show-man.

"The showers. I don't have a shower at home, and I certainly never smell like roses either," I say jokingly. He raises an eyebrow and laughs.

"Roses?!"

"Yes, roses. I have no idea what the buttons do in the showers, and I accidentally pressed one that sprayed me with this strange soap. Now I smell like roses. Smell me!" I lean forward, and he sniffs at my shoulder.

"Ah, you _do_ smell like roses!" he laughs, and the audience joins in. "So, roses aside, Peeta, you're a good-looking man-" he cuts off as some of the female audience cheer, and I can't help but laugh. "Well, it seems they agree! But I wonder if a good-looking guy like you has a girl back home?" I almost fall off my seat. He's just played right into my hands, and I haven't had to do anything.

"Ah, no. No I don't." Caesar looks out at the crowd, and lifts his hands in a shrug. They all sigh wistfully.

"Surely, Peeta! There must be some girl at home you have your eye on!" I decide to go for it – this really couldn't be going any better, and I sneak a look at Haymitch. He looks just as surprised as I do at how easy this is.

"Well, Caesar, I guess there _is _this one girl I've liked for a long time, but I'm not sure she even knew who I was before this week," I tell him. I can see Katniss out of the corner of my eye, and while most people wouldn't be able to tell, I can. I've studied her face for far too long – and I know her eyes are angry. I'm not sure what's going on there, because I'm sure my interview is going well. Caesar claps happily.

"Ah, I knew it! Well, she certainly knows who you are now! You can win these games, and go home to her and make her your girl. No-one can say no to a victor!"

I shake my head sadly.

"I don't think that will happen, Caesar. See, the girl I like is very strong willed, and I don't think she'd see a relationship with me as acceptable. I'm not sure how others would feel about it either." Caesar waves this off with his hand.

"Oh, it doesn't matter what others think, Peeta. As long as you're happy and you get the girl, that's what counts! There's no way she could _ever _turn you down now!" I take a deep breath. This is it.

"Well, tell me honestly what you think, Caesar. What do you think about the fact that the girl I'm in love with came here with me – as my Mentor?"

The amphitheatre is so silent you could hear a pin drop.

* * *

**A/N – I'm a big fan of both Cinna and Haymitch, and I know that, like Peeta, they'd do pretty much anything to save Katniss. Hence, they involve themselves with Peeta to do what they can…..**

**I was a little concerned that I'm going off canon with Peeta, so please let me know if you think I am. In my head he's a year older, and has already experienced the horror of watching the girl he loves go off to the games, so I think he's even more motivated. And I think Haymitch and Cinna can tell this. They're so freaking smart, really. **

**Thanks again for follows, favourites, reviews.**

**I don't own the Hunger Games. But by this Friday I will own the Blu-Ray. **


	7. Chapter 7

Katniss POV

He said _what?! _I'm looking blindly at Haymitch, at Cinna, trying to comprehend what Peeta just said up on the stage. After the initial shock, the audience had gone into meltdown, yelling and screaming Peeta's name – _and my name _– calling for me to go up to the stage. I can see them, their faces distorted in either happiness or terror. It's hard to tell with their make-up. Caesar, who looks as stunned as I do, waves his hands to quieten the crowd.

"Peeta," he starts, then pauses as if regathering himself. He shoots the cuffs of his green jacket to buy himself some time. "Peeta, do you mean to tell me you're in love with Katniss Everdeen, your Mentor and the victor of the 73rd Hunger Games?" Caesars' words sink in, and the gravity of them hits me like a train. My heart feels like it both drops and bursts at the same time. _Holy shit. What the hell has Peeta done? _I vaguely see him nod his head sheepishly, and then I catch sight of the big screen that is behind him. It's showing me, my reaction.

My face is red, the same colour as my mouth has formed a surprised 'O', and my eyes are so wide and glassy I look like I've been electrocuted. I look like a deer when they know they're caught in my crosshairs.

But it's the expression I see in my eyes that scares me the most. My eyes show a hint of hope, and hope is one thing I've rarely had. _Hope for what? Why? What the hell is going on here? _I look away, trying desperately to school my face into its usual indifference. I'm so confused right now.

I can hear Caesar trying to get some information out of Peeta – _'How long have you loved her?' 'Did she know?' 'What made you fall in love with her?' _– but he is acting like a gentleman, bashfully telling Caesar he wants to keep it between us. _Us? _ I think. _When the hell did we become 'us'?!_ I turn to Haymitch, expecting him to be in as much shock as I am, but one look at him and I immediately know he's not surprised at the words Peeta has said.

"You knew!" I hiss at him, anger starting to burn in my stomach. He nods shamelessly.

"You bet I did, sweetheart," he replies. I shake my head, and steal a glance at the rest of the team. Effie and Portia seem just as overwhelmed as me – Effie is practically swooning in her seat – but Cinna simply smiles at me. His eyes are bright with excitement.

"A nice surprise, don't you think?" he whispers. I look at him incredulously, expecting more to follow, but it doesn't. Not that I should be surprised. Cinna never reveals anything more than he wants to.

I can still feel the cameras on me, and it's making me angrier by the second. I'm grateful when Peeta's three minutes are over, he's escorted off the stage, and the image of me on the big screen is removed. Caesar quickly wraps up the show – the audience is almost in hysterics now after Peeta's announcement, and can hardly be controlled – and we're escorted up to the Penthouse, where Peeta and Hadley will meet us. I'm still in shock, and make my way immediately up to the roof. I'm not sure I can speak to anyone right now.

There's a part of me that is thrilled at what Peeta had said. I had never dreamed in a million years that the boy I had been interested in – albeit reluctantly - would like me back. Granted, it would never amount to anything, as I had been certain for as long as I could remember that I would never marry and have children, and risk putting them through the terror of the reaping and the games. I had seen what love had done to my parents, whose love was so deep and all-consuming that that when my father died my mother essentially died with him. I refused to let that happen to me. But I'm not so heartless that it doesn't stop the little thrill of knowing that someone thinks you are special.

However, there's another, more dominant part that is horrified at how he has exposed me. I had hardly thought of him for over a year and I'd determined that the little foolish feelings I had had for him before I was reaped had simply disappeared. I had always been strong and independent, and had never had to rely on anyone but myself, and love never got you anywhere anyway. I had won a Hunger Games with that mindset, and I was angry beyond belief that in one fell swoop he had destroyed all that. It wasn't even that I had to make an impression on the Gamemakers, or the Capitol, or even Snow.

It was I that I needed to prove myself to, and I didn't want to be weak, or needy or reliant. That's not who I am.

I'm not so wrapped up in my own thoughts, though, that I don't hear the door to the roof open. I know it's him. I turn to face him, my arms wrapped tightly around my waist, as if they're the only thing holding me together. I can see the hesitation on his own face as he approaches me, and we stand there in awkward silence. Finally, I can't let it lie any longer.

"So. Haymitch knew about that," I start. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he nods.

"Yeah, he did. He kind of figured out that I lo- liked you, and told me just to do it. You know, with the threat of impending death and all, what did I have to lose?" His comments light the fire that's been simmering inside me since the interview, and I push my hands against his chest, forcing him to stumble backwards. He trips over a plant, but manages to scramble back to his feet as I get right in his face, practically hissing through my teeth.

"What the hell, Peeta?! _What the hell?!_ It's my job to keep you alive, not….not….be presented as some ridiculous girly… _thing_ to the Capitol! I DON'T GET IT! You don't speak to me, don't even acknowledge me _ever_, and then suddenly you're declaring your _LOVE_ for me in front of the entire Capitol?! On television, that my mother is watching?!" A thought hits me, and I gasp, recoiling. "That _your _mother is watching! Oh my god. She'll be furious!"

Although he may think it is, it's not a well-kept secret in either the Town or the Seam that Peeta's mother is a viciously tempered woman who likes to raise her voice, and her rolling pin, to her children. I still can't understand how Peeta's father, one of the nicest men in District 12, lets her get away with it. It seems the guts and strength in that family only went to one member. And he was standing in front of me.

Peeta has the grace to look a little ashamed, but he brushes it off and takes a step back. How he manages to keep his voice even and not yell back is beyond me. "I don't care, Katniss. Yes, I never told you. Yes, I was too shy to, and I always thought you were with Gale anyway." I open my mouth to argue with him, but he simply shoots me a look. "I know now, that you never were. You could see that after you returned last year. Although I get the feeling he thinks of you more than you think of him." I snort.

"Is there anything else you want to throw out there while you're at it? May as well! You're on a roll, Peeta!" I almost hate myself for how childish and bitter I sound, but it's the only way I know how to defend myself. He shakes his head.

"You know, Katniss, maybe you should think about this a little bit more. Is it _really that bad _for someone to tell you that they love you?"

"It is when you don't believe in love," I snap back. He looks at me, surprised.

"You don't believe in love?" The sadness in his voice is hard for him to hide. "Then that's sad, Katniss. You should believe in everything. I do. Life is too short not to believe in something like love."

"Well, that kind of love never gets anyone anywhere. It didn't get my father anywhere, and it didn't get my mother anywhere," I retort, and I know I sound petulant.

"That's just as ridiculous. It gets you everywhere." He trails off, alternately glancing between me and staring into the distance. Finally, he speaks. "You know, I only came to the realisation this week that I should never be afraid to do anything – including telling someone you love them. I'm grateful Haymitch gave me the encouragement I needed. I don't care that you don't feel the same way. I'm just glad I got to tell you before…." He pauses and continues to look around, as if to gather his thoughts, and I take the time to interrupt him.

An awful thought has just occurred to me.

"You're not using me, and this, as a ploy, are you Peeta? Just saying you have these feelings to get sponsors to feel sorry for you?" I'm not yelling anymore, but the tension in my voice is evident. I can feel the cords of my neck tighten in anticipation of his answer. He shakes his head indignantly.

"I already told you that I wouldn't lie in my interview. I never say anything I don't mean. That's one thing you can always take as the truth, Katniss. I will never, ever lie to you." He pauses, watching my reaction to his words. I'm still silent. "Yes, I know that what I said tonight may give me favour with potential sponsors, and may make your job a little easier out here trying to line them up for me. Why is that so bad? Any sponsors we get are a good thing. Because I'm going to need all the help I can get. I'm not going in there like a Career, or even like Hadley. I'm not going in there with a thirst for blood or extreme fighting skills. I'm only going in there because the Capitol is _making_ me go in there, with a talent for camouflaging myself and a bit of muscle. But I refuse to play their games. I refuse to let them turn me into something I'm not. I'm not a killer, I'm not a hunter – I'm a bakers' son, who's in the wrong place at the wrong time with the right person." I ignore his last comment, and focus on what I really don't understand.

"So, what are you saying? You're just going to throw all our work away, and not kill anyone? Wait there like a sitting duck for someone to just pick you off?" He shakes his head.

"No, of course not. If it comes down to it, and I have to kill someone, and I will. But I'm not going in there looking for blood, Katniss. I'm simply going in there with the hope I'll come back out again." He takes a step towards me, and I instinctively take one step back. I'm still not comfortable with tonight's events. He nods in recognition, and stays where he is.

My anger has banked somewhat, but I still feel as if I'm on the edge of a cliff, very close to falling off and exposing myself to all of Panem. I need to get my thoughts and feelings in order. I turn and head towards the corner of the roof, studying the Capitol citizens below. They're in high spirits for the start of the games tomorrow, and I can't help but sigh.

This may be the very last day I ever see Peeta, and we're standing here fighting over _love _of all things. There's so much more we could be talking about – life, district 12, family – but I don't think like that. I can't afford to. Now, as his Mentor, it's more important than ever that my mind be in the games, and I need to keep it there. I've done all I can with them, and protecting both himself and Hadley from the other tributes in the arena is something that I have no control over. All I can do now is work the sponsors, and that should be all I think about.

I'm not sure how successful I'm going to be with that.

Eventually Peeta joins me, and looks over the edge. From the corner of my eye, I can see the shock on his face. "Are they – are they _partying_?" he asks incredulously. I nod and turn to face him, resting my hip on the roof ledge.

"It's all fun and games to them, Peeta. And after tonight's interviews? They'll be in exceptionally high spirits. I know there's only one thing the Capitol loves just as much as the games, and that's…" I trail off, as I realise what I'm saying. Every other thought flies out of my head. _Haymitch, you smart bastard._ I almost laugh, but manage to contain it to a snort. Peeta looks confused, and I feel compelled to explain. "He's so smart, Peeta. I almost can't believe it, after killing his brain cells with alcohol for so many years. Oh, Haymitch encouraged you alright. He absolutely knew what kind of reaction you'd get by announcing you were in love with me. And he knows that by presenting you and Hadley as friends, not foes, your declaration would help her too. Who wouldn't want to sponsor the boy in love, and his friend? He is just…. Far too good at this." Finally, I do laugh, and I know I have a long way to go before I could ever be as sly a Mentor as Haymitch.

* * *

I leave Peeta on the roof, still a little confused by my most recent outburst. I head straight for Haymitch's room, and I barge in without bothering to knock. Thankfully, he's respectable – or as much as he ever can be – only looking slightly surprised at my entrance. I reach over and press the button that turns off his room projector and stand directly in front of him, my arms crossed.

"Nothing like a good old love story, huh Haymitch?" I ask snidely. He shrugs, and sips from the glass in his hand.

"I knew you'd figure it sooner or later. Look, you know it, I know it. As soon as I could tell the boy had feelings for you, I figured it was something I could work with."

"You could have told me."

"Ha! And ruin the surprise? Shit, sweetheart, I almost lost it when I caught the look on your face. That was worth bucketloads of sponsorship alone."

"But you're manipulating him! You knew all along the kind of reaction he was going to get. Did you tell him that?" I begin pacing in front of him, and I can see the amused smirk on his face.

"The boy's not dumb. He knows exactly what he's getting himself into. More than you'll ever know. He knows it's good for him, for Hadley, for us. Give him a little credit for how smart he is. Sponsors are the name of our game, Katniss, you know that." I roll my eyes.

"Yes, the sponsors are going to eat it up, and want to sponsor him and that's wonderful. But he's going through enough, and now you want people pestering him about being in love?!"

"Who's going to be pestering him? As of tomorrow morning, he's in the arena. The only thing he needs to worry about in there is the tributes, and like they're going to give a shit that he loves you. I think you're more worried about people pestering _you_, sweetheart, and you need to get over yourself.I haven't done anything wrong, and don't try and tell me I have." He looks so righteous that I just don't have the energy to argue with him. I turn on my heel to leave, but he reaches out, grabbing me by the arm. He leans in close to my ear, both to put me off and to avoid the Capitol hearing him. "And don't even bother being all bent out of shape about it anymore either. You know exactly how much you like what he said." I don't deign to look at him, wrenching my arm away and storming out, slamming the door behind me. I hear his laughter following me down the hall.

Dammit. It seems I really need to work on my poker face.

* * *

After sitting in my room for what feels like hours, silently fuming to myself, I give up on sleep and begin wandering restlessly around the penthouse. I find Hadley sitting alone in the vast living area, gazing out the floor to ceiling windows. She looks so young – I know she's only a year older than Prim, and it breaks my heart. There's still a part of me that feels guilty that I have spent so much of my focus on Peeta, when there is another person – with some incredible skills – who deserves to live as much as he does. I sit next to her, drawing my legs up to my chest. I don't say anything, but she finally breaks the silence.

"Some night, huh?" she asks. I look at her closely. She has the same seam look as I do - long dark hair, grey eyes, olive skin - so much so she looks more like my sister than Prim does. Right now, her eyes are sad, but there's a hint of a smile in them. "Who would have thought? A boy from Town and a girl from the Seam."

"It doesn't mean anything," I quickly reply. _It can't mean anything. _She shrugs.

"Why not? It was crazy how that all went down. I know I was shocked, so I can only imagine how everyone else felt. How did you feel?"

"How did I feel?" I repeat. "I… felt numb." It's the most honest answer I can give. She sighs wistfully.

"I wish a boy had loved me. It would have been nice before I died." I glance at her, hating that she's talking about herself in past tense and thinking about her death as if it is already a forgone conclusion.

"There's still every chance you can come out of these games and have that happen."

"I don't think so, Katniss," she shakes her head, and I can see tears in her eyes. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to go down without a fight. And if I get to the end, I'm going to work my ass off to win. I know what Peeta said tonight will help me as his district partner – but I also know that it benefits him more. I don't blame him for that. Good on him for doing it. I mean, I trained with an axe before the games, so it all evens out, right?"

"I-I guess so." _God, being a mentor is hard._ _How the hell can she say what she thinks so well, at only 14?_ _I still feel like my mouth is full of cotton wool half the time._

"But although it evens out, I definitely think he's gained himself an advantage there. I think if people are going to root for a tribute from 12, it's going to be him. Because of him….and because of you." I start to shake my head, but she ignores me. "Don't feel bad about it. I don't. I guess now as mentors you kinda have to go with your best bet. Which I think is him." I don't know what to say to her, so we sit silently again. Finally, she rises. "I guess….I guess I'd better go sleep. Goodnight, Katniss. And thanks for everything. Really." She walks off, before I can respond to her. It's a few more minutes before the words I want to say reach my mouth.

"No, Hadley. Thank you," I whisper softly.

* * *

_The red blood spills through my hands. I press my hands to flesh, hoping against hope that somehow I can hold it in, to stop it from flowing out as freely. I know it won't work, but I keep doing it, sweat dripping into my eyes, sobs escaping my mouth._

_I let my gaze wander to where Marvel lays, my arrow embedded in his neck and his lifeless eyes staring at me. I want to close them, or at least turn them away, but I can't. I need to stay here and keep Rue alive._

_I look down at her, and her brown eyes are filled with tears. _

"_You can't let this go to waste, Katniss," she tells me. I shush her._

"_Don't speak, Rue. You need to keep your strength. I'll save you."_

"_You can't save me. But you can save him," she whispers, and uses all the strength she has to point her finger out in front of her. I look up and see Peeta standing before us, his blonde hair shining in the sun, and his glorious blue eyes twinkling._

"_But, but he's fine," I tell her frantically. She looks at me sadly and shakes her head._

"_I love you Katniss. But he needs you more than I do." I look up again, and see he's no longer standing there, but has fallen to his knees. His skin is ashen, and he looks down in horror at the spear embedded in his chest. The blood rushes to my head and my heart beats out of control. I swivel my head to look at Marvel, who has climbed to his feet, his head lolling at a 45° angle, blood pouring out of his wound. _

"_You can't save him from us," he laughs manically. I look from him, to Peeta, to Rue. She nods at me, and slowly closes her eyes. I leap up, and swiftly retrieve another arrow from my quiver, knocking it and letting it loose almost instantaneously, slicing through the remaining flesh and tendons of Marvel's neck. He falls to the ground in a heap and I rush to Peeta's side. The life is already draining out of his eyes; he looks at me sadly._

"_You need to tell me, Katniss" he whispers. His eyes close, and his breathing stops before I have the chance to reply._

I shoot upright in bed, and push at the hair that has stuck to my face with sweat. My heart is beating rapidly and I have a pit in my stomach that makes me feel ill. My throat isn't sore, which means it is one of the few dreams I've had that I haven't woken up screaming, but in a way it's just as bad as those dreams.

Because there was one person in this dream who was alive and across the hall from me. And for once I wasn't dreaming about a past I couldn't change.

Before I can think twice, I push the covers off me, fling open my door and knock directly on Peeta's. I knock again, and again, until he finally opens the door. He looks at me confused, rubbing a hand across his face. He's in nothing but grey sweatpants, and I'm mortified that after the dream I just had all I can think about is how hot he is.

"Katniss, are you ok?" he asks. I nod, and simply stand there. I have no idea what I'm doing. "Do you want to come in?" I nod again, and he opens the door a little wider, letting me pass. He looks both ways down the hall before he closes it, and then turns to see me sit on the couch in the corner. He joins me, simply waiting for me to talk. He's good at listening.

"I had a dream," I start.

* * *

**A/N – Quite randomly, this chapter was written to **_**Under Pressure **_**by Queen and David Bowie. It came on my ipod and I was like "Oh. This is how Katniss is kinda feeling. Fair enough." So it was pretty much on repeat for an hour. **

**Thanks for reviews and follows. Special shout out to those who are reviewing so regularly, especially to Cali-Chan, whose review of the last chapter made me smile from the word SNAP!**

**I don't own the Hunger Games. But I officially own it on Blu-Ray now. And it's as awesome as Seneca Crane's beard.**


	8. Chapter 8

_Peeta POV_

I wait patiently for Katniss to continue. She looks restless, her eyes red-rimmed, her hair falling out of her signature braid. I feel partly responsible, after what I pulled in the interview earlier. But it doesn't make me regret anything that I said.

"I had a dream," she says again. "Rue… Rue was in it. And Marvel. He was dead, she was already dying." I wasn't there, but I know exactly what she is talking about. I watched it happen, in the square with everyone else in District 12. We watched the young girl die as well, Katniss softly singing to her as the games claimed another victim. I can understand dreaming about it would upset her. "But that wasn't the worse thing about it. You were there." I raise my eyebrow in question.

"I was there – as a tribute?" She shakes her head, then shrugs.

"I don't know. You were just there. Rue told me I couldn't save her, but I could save you."

"That's pretty self-explanatory, Katniss. You're my mentor. It's your job to try and save me. That makes sense."

"Maybe," she starts. Her voice is beginning to lean towards hysterical. "But that doesn't explain the rest of it. Marvel…. He somehow managed to get up and throw a spear at you. It hit you, exactly where it hit Rue. There was blood – your blood – everywhere, and I couldn't stop it. I left Rue to die, to kill Marvel again, and to run to you. But it was too late. You were already dying. I couldn't save you." Her breath hitches, and I place a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. She tenses at the touch, and I let it drop away.

"It's ok, Katniss. You and Haymitch have done all you can. If I happen to…not win, it won't be from lack of you or Haymitch doing your job. You of all people should know that once you're in the arena, you can only rely on yourself. You can't even rely on sponsors." She shakes her head again.

"You told me to tell you," she blurts out. Her face colours.

"I told you to tell me something, in the dream?" She nods. "Tell you what?" She opens her mouth, then closes it again. She either doesn't know what to say, or doesn't want to say what she thinks.

"I-I don't know," she says eventually. I shrug. If she doesn't want to tell me, I'm not going to be able to prise it out of her.

"That's ok, Katniss, it's ok to have dreams that confuse you, or don't make perfect sense. You've got so many things to worry about, so many things running through your head that you should expect to have dreams that jumble things up." She looks at me, her mouth a little agape what I've said.

"You're so calm about everything. How do you do it?" I shrug.

"I guess I've made peace with myself. If I'm meant to be the Victor, I'm meant to be the Victor. If I'm meant to die, I'm meant to die. It's not to say I'm not terrified by what is coming – I am. But there's nothing I can do about it. I have no regrets anymore." I can see her seriously contemplating what I've said. Suddenly she shakes her head furiously.

"That's all well and good for you, Peeta. I don't work like that. My dreams….It's more than what happened today, or in the games. It's my subconscious telling me that I need to be honest with myself." She stands, and paces in front of me. "It was telling me that there's a chance you could die in these games. You know, I stand up for what I believe in. I stood up for Prim, for Rue. Apparently I've stood up too much, but….ugh." She waves this away, before I can speak up and tell her I know, I know exactly what she's talking about, that it's part of the reason I said what I did. "I don't even know what I'm saying right now. I'm not saying what my brain wants me to."

"I can't help you with that. I don't know what you're trying to say." She whirls on me, frustration evident on her face.

"Oh, for god's sake, Peeta. I'm trying to be honest with myself for once. I'm trying to be honest with you. I'm trying to say I think I may have some kind of feelings for you."

The words register, but they don't make sense. Or they make sense, but I don't believe them.

"Wh-what?" I manage to mutter. She glares at me, and sits down again.

"When I came in here, I had no intention of saying anything. It wasn't even in my head. I was only coming in here because…..to be honest, I don't know why I was coming in here. When I woke, I didn't even think twice. You were the first person I thought of, and I figured I could at least get my dream off my chest. Then you had to be all understanding and, and logical and whatever," she pauses, but I don't interrupt. I'm still a little shocked. "Look, I don't know when it started. I guess I had always kept an eye out for you, after you gave me the bread when we were younger. I wanted to repay you, so I would kind of keep a look out for anytime I could return the favour. But I was never able to. Then, about a month before I was reaped, it was…pointed out to me that I kept tabs on you for more than just that. And as soon as that person pointed it out, I knew that they were right. As much as I didn't like it."

"Wait," I suddenly interrupt. "Are you telling me that someone else had to tell you that you were interested in me?" She nods. "You only told me yesterday you don't believe in love."

"I said I was interested. Loves a strong word, Peeta," she says softly, and I can see the colour has drained from her face. She's quiet for a few moments, and I'm terrified I've put her off from continuing to speak. I breathe a sigh of relief as she starts again. "I've always said that I'll never getting married or have children. I guess it was easy to ignore whatever I felt, or not acknowledge it because of that. But after it was pointed out, I couldn't ignore it. It became pretty obvious why I accompanied Prim to the bakery. Or watched the wrestling competitions." I feel a smile creep across my face.

_Katniss Everdeen had been watching me. Liking me. Wanting me._

"But then I was reaped, and I came back, and I didn't care about anything. I didn't give you a passing thought. I didn't think of anything, except those kids who died in my place, and my sister, who I would sacrifice anything for. I figured it was a childish infatuation, and that it was gone. I didn't think of you for a year, Peeta. Not until Effie called your name. And… well, I think my face at the reaping showed it all. I guess they weren't gone like I thought they were."

We're quiet for a few moments while her words sink in.

"So, um, how did what I said tonight make you feel?" I ask. I'm so nervous, and unsure of myself. It's a strange feeling.

"I can't even begin to explain. I'm not pleased that Haymitch put you up to that-"

"He didn't," I interrupt. "He's unnaturally adept at reading people, and he knew straight away how I felt about you. If I didn't want to say it, wild forces couldn't have made me do it. But he planted the seed in my head, and I knew what he was saying was the right thing to do. Everything he said made sense." _And it didn't hurt that he told me how much trouble you're in, and that everything I do or say will help. _She stands again, clenching and unclenching her fists, not in anger, but almost as a tension release.

"I think I should go. It's late, and you have an arena to enter tomorrow."

"No, don't go yet," I beg her. Not so soon.

"I-I can't stay anymore. Good luck, Peeta," her voice breaks on my name, and she steps towards the door. I go to her before she can get any further away, resting my hands on her shoulders. She doesn't tense this time, but I can still feel her wariness.

"I'll be ok, Katniss. If I come out, you'll be the first person I'll come looking for. Because I love you. And maybe, just maybe, I can convince you that you dolove me back." I hear her breath catch in her throat, and she looks away, but I cup her chin in my hand, raising her eyes to mine. In the faint light thrown across the room by the beside lamp, her eyes look like silver. "I'm sorry. I have to do this, even if it's just once," I whisper, and lower my lips to hers.

At first she's hesitant and frozen, but I don't let that put me off. I slide my hand from her shoulder to her waist, and move my other hand from her chin further into her hair. I can feel her hand rest lightly on my arm, her shoulders relax and finally her lips part in acceptance. I don't expect what happens next.

Her right hand is suddenly gripping the back of my head, her fingers tangling in my hair. Her body is plastered against mine, and it takes every inch of my control not to drag her over to my bed. Her tongue lightly brushes against by bottom lip, and I wrap my arm tighter around her waist, deepening the kiss. I eventually tear my lips from hers to trail little kisses across her cheekbones, her eyes, nipping on her earlobe. She shudders, a slight sigh escaping her lips, and she slides her left hand down my back so that it rests inside the back pocket of my sweatpants. I can feel her heart thudding against mine, and I capture her lips again, pouring everything I'm feeling into the kiss. It's all I've ever imagined and more.

I feel my body responding, and I know I should pull away, _but I can't_. My hand almost involuntarily slides under her shirt, up her ribcage, my fingers lightly brushing the underside of her breast, and she shivers. Both her hands clench me tighter, and my body jerks in response, a deep moan slipping through my lips. I want, no _I need_, to feel her. I start to move my hand higher, and her knees buckle. _Oh god._

But then she's pulling away from me, and I feel cold, so cold. She raises a hand to her lips, her eyes wide and a blush spreading across her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Katniss. I had to. I didn't want to die having never kissed you," I blurt. She shakes her head swiftly.

"Don't be sorry," she whispers. "I'm – I'm sorry that I can't give you more than that. I'm just so confused." She turns, reaching for the doorknob, quietly pulling the door open. She pauses before she steps out. "You have to come back, Peeta. I think I'll die with you if you die in the arena." She quickly closes the door before I can say anything, but I don't need to. She's just given me everything I need and more.

If I wasn't motivated to come out of the arena before, I certainly am now.

* * *

The sun has been up for as long as I have. After Katniss left, it was almost impossible to sleep. I'd already been awake when she'd knocked on my door, after watching the tapes that Effie had left for me.

They were a revelation.

Haymitch had won, and won by being _smart_. It really shouldn't have surprised me, particularly after working with him since being reaped. But I had sat there, in shock, as I watched him use the arena itself to win. To turn the game on the Gamemakers, and use their own force field against them. He was a genius.

He'd fought his way to get to the final two – he had skilfully killed a number of tributes, including some Careers, so being there at the end certainly wasn't by chance – and had formed an alliance with Maysilee Donner, his fellow tribute from 12. I'd watched as she died in his arms after a bird attack, and could see the fury and anger warring with sadness in his eyes. I'd watched as he'd returned home, to be greeted by gleeful District 12 crowds, and in particular two people who appeared to be his mother and brother, and a third, a beautiful girl with hair as dark as Katniss'. I had never seen, or heard, of those people in District 12 before, and an almost undeniable certainty had settled upon me.

I knew what the Capitol had done to Haymitch.

I slept for a short while, but eventually leftover frustration from my kiss with Katniss, the impending nature of today and what I was sure had happened to Haymitch weighed so heavily on me it was useless trying to sleep anymore. I've been sitting on my window ledge for well over an hour when Haymitch enters my room.

"What's happening, kid? All ready to go?" he plops himself on the couch, eyeing me warily.

"As I'll ever be," I reply. I'm already dressed in the clothes the prep team laid out for me last night. All that's left is for me to be escorted to the arena to wait for the start of the games.

"You gonna tell me about your little rendezvous last night?" he asks. I shrug. I should have known you can't keep anything from this guy. "Hey, I know she came in here last night. You may as well fill me in."

"There's not much to say, Haymitch. We talked. I think she was still a little raw after what I announced at the interview." Images of her in my arms played in my head, the feeling of her body against mine coursing through me.

There's no way in hell I'm telling him that.

"You're going to sit there and tell me the only reason she came in here last night was to have a go at you for that?" I sigh. He's going to continue to bug the crap out of me if I keep denying it.

"No, Haymitch, that's not all, but that's not up to me to say. If Katniss wants to tell you, she can. Anyway, the balls in your court now. I've done my part of keeping her safe. You have to hold up your end of the bargain now, and make sure what I started gets finished. _Keep her safe_," I warn him.

"That's what I plan to do, kid. It's now your responsibility to come out of there alive. Because _I can't have her dying if you do_," he says pointedly, and I know he heard what she said as she left last night. I don't know how he heard, and I don't particularly care, but I feel my anger rise. As much as I can appreciate how smart and intuitive Haymitch is, sometimes I just want to punch him in his smug face.

"Doing a bit of creeping around in the middle of the night?" I snarl. He shrugs.

"Kid, I haven't slept a full night in 24 years. What else have I got to do but wander around this frigging penthouse?" He pauses, then rises to stand beside me. "Look, I gotta appreciate what you've done for her. You didn't have to. I know that there is a part of her that is melting on the inside right now because you have those feelings for her. She's not oblivious to the fact that I already know that. I know her, and I know that she'll be more intent than ever on you making it out alive. That's why she's with Hadley this morning, not you. She needed another reminder that there are two of you going in. And even though only one of you can come out, she still needs to recognise Hadley before this starts. There are two of you we need to sell to the sponsors."

"What's to say Hadley is the one coming out, not me?" I ask. He sighs.

"As much as Hadley is a nice girl, kid, she won't have the sponsor support like you do. Especially after last night. And you have a lot more to fight for. Love is a powerful tool. Use it, and it can defeat almost anything."

"That sounds almost poetic, Haymitch," I reply. He grimaces.

"Yeah, well. I didn't make use of it properly the first time. I'm not going to make that mistake again." I think he's referring to his games, and I take the opportunity to bring it up.

"I think you did use it the first time," I say softly. "Love got you home, didn't it? That was your inspiration." He looks at me carefully, glances at my projector, and then tips his head towards the bathroom. I go in, turning the taps on as Cinna had done only the day before, and wait for Haymitch to follow.

"Is that what Effie got for you yesterday? My games?" He asks, and I nod. He sighs. "Smart kid, aren't you? I guess you saw how I won, and my return to 12."

"Yeah. I did." I take a deep breath before I ask my next question. "What did they do, Haymitch? What was your punishment for making them look like fools?" I expect him to be a little angry, a little volatile at my question. What I don't expect is the clear and evident pain in his eyes.

"What do you think they did?" I feel like he's testing me, and I hope I pass.

"I think….I think I've never seen any of your family in 12. I've think I've never seen you with a beautiful woman who looks like she could be related to Katniss. I think…I think they're dead. And I think the Capitol is who did it." He just stares at me for a moment, then shrugs. His eyes go blank, his lip curls sarcastically and he's back to the Haymitch I've gotten used to. For a moment I'm stunned at how similar Haymitch and Katniss are in their mannerisms, in their way of shutting out the world.

"Well, you got it in one, kid. They weren't happy with me, and I wasn't pretty enough to be whored out. As soon as they knew I had a nice little family – plus a girl – back home, they didn't think twice. My punishment? The three of them were dead two weeks after I returned. In some ways, Katniss has gotta be thankful that the Capitol won't do that to her family. Blondie is too well known after the reaping, everyone fell in love with her. The Capitol couldn't afford to kill her off. Me, on the other hand? I was a sarcastic little shit who most people were surprised lasted til the end. Sponsors didn't help me, or Maysilee. Apparently we were all expendable."

"Does Katniss know about your family?" I ask. He laughs, a short, sharp laugh that almost hurts my ears.

"You gotta be kidding. There is no way in hell I would have told her. She didn't need to know."

"What if she's watched it like I have?"

"Kid, it wouldn't have occurred to her prior to this week that she even needed to worry about any of this. Last year her sole focus was on winning, and it wasn't relevant for her to know what the Capitol can do. Do you think half the kids would make the effort to win if they knew shit like this could go down on them afterwards? In some instances, retribution is worse than death. And anyway, when she got back, she was barely in good enough shape to construct a sentence, let alone think twice about my games."

"Well, I think she needs to know now," I tell him. He shakes his head, going to turn off the water, but I stop him. "No, don't shake your head at me Haymitch. She needs to know. It'll get back to her sooner or later, except if you don't tell her first she'll be blindsided, and she'll have no idea of what's happened in the past. It's already gotten back to Cinna." He glances up at me quickly then, and I nod. "He said he's in, by the way." He rolls his eyes.

"Frigging hell, kid, I told you not to say anything to anyone."

"Cinna brought it up, not me. He already knew. He even knows about the prost-" He cuts me off, as if he can barely stand to even hear the word.

"Don't even go there. Just… leave it. I'll speak to Cinna when I get the chance." Haymitch reaches over and I let him turn the taps off this time, signalling the end of the conversation.

* * *

Haymitch takes me as far as the hovercraft that escorts the tributes to the arena. He pats me on the shoulder, mumbles a good luck, and goes back inside. He keeps his eyes averted the whole time, as if he can't bear to catch my eye. I don't see Katniss, and I'm disappointed, but I guess we said all we needed to last night. I'm shuffled on board the hovercraft last, behind Hadley, and I can see the reluctance in her steps. If I could provide her with some sort of reassurance, I would, but we're forbidden from talking.

We're seated in two rows, with nowhere to look but each other. Some eye the other tributes off; most are looking into their laps, avoiding locking gazes with anyone. A Capitol nurse is injecting something into everyone's arms, and as she arrives at me, I question her.

"It's your tracker. So we know where you are in the arena," she replies bluntly. Of course. The Capitol needs to keep track of us in there too. As long as it can't read my thoughts, I'll be fine.

The flight to the arena doesn't take long. The final part is shrouded in darkness, so none of us can catch a glimpse of the arena as we arrive. Upon arrival, I'm swiftly delivered to my launch room. I will be the only person who will ever use this room, and I know a year from now Capitol residents will visit here on their holidays, seeing where I spent my final moments before the games. I know from watching Capitol broadcasts that the launch room Katniss left from for last years' games is hot property, and has been featured on dozens of programs as part of the 'Girl on Fire Victory Vacation'. It disgusted me every time I saw one; I avoided the Capitol broadcasts like the plague.

Cinna is waiting for me. He is the last friendly face I am likely to ever see. He rests a hand on my shoulder as I enter the room, and it feels both comforting and weighty at the same time. He encourages me to eat some of the food provided, but I can't even consider eating it. I'm likely to vomit it back up. We sit in silence for a few moments, before Cinna clears his throat.

"I have something for you," he says softly. He rises, gathering my Capitol-ordered jacket, and settling it on my shoulders. I push my arm through the sleeves, examining the fabric. It's light, but looks reflective. "It should retain heat, but also has cooling properties," Cinna explains when he sees me studying the jacket. I nod, then watch him pull a small item out of his pocket.

It's Katniss' Mockingjay pin.

A tribute is normally allowed to take a token of their district into the arena, but it wasn't something I had even thought of up until now. Katniss had been given hers by one of our school friends, Madge, and had worn it every single day during her games and throughout the victory tour. It seemed everyone in Panem had affectionately begun referring to her as the Mockingjay, and it stuck. The Capitol itself was not amused that one of their failed experiments was being so blatantly referred to in front of them all the time.

I guess it was another reason they were mighty pissed at Katniss.

It doesn't explain why Cinna has the pin though, and I look at him questioningly. He reaches for my lapel, and begins to attach the pin.

"Katniss asked me this morning to give it to you. She said that it was important for you to have it after last night." I can see a glint in Cinna's eyes, and I don't know whether it's amusement or tears, but when he catches my eye, it's gone.

"Was she – was she ok this morning?" I ask. He nods.

"She was fine. Her focus was on Hadley. She was very quiet, but that's to be expected on a day like this. None of us are very …joyful this morning." I know he's thinking of me, of Hadley. But I know he's also thinking of Katniss, and what we have to save her from. I'm confident that he'll be there for Katniss whether I can be or not.

"Thank you, Cinna. For everything," I say softly. He nods, but is interrupted by the loudspeaker announcing it's time for me to stand on the plate that will lift me into the arena. He reaches in to hug me.

"Come home to us, Peeta. Come home to Katniss," he whispers. I try to smile, but I can't. I can hear my heart thudding in my ears, can feel my palms begin to sweat. I step away to stand on the marker, and manage to keep myself together as the launch begins. I raise a hand in farewell to Cinna as my marker rises towards the ceiling, and the roof opens, receiving me into the arena. The sun hits me in the eyes, and I squint, letting my eyes adjust to the brightness. It's not long before I see the glinting Cornucopia in front of me, its bountiful riches spread in front of it. I spot a small backpack not 5 feet from me, and figure it's within distance enough for me to risk going for it. The other tributes are spread out in an even semi-circle, and I can see Hadley 3 places down. She's schooled her face well; I can't read what she's thinking at all. _Good girl. Don't let them know how you feel_. I quickly take in my surroundings as the countdown begins.

It looks like we're in some kind of prairie. Expanses of grass surround us, pretty meadow flowers releasing a scent that does not belong in a place of murder. In front of me, behind the Cornucopia, the meadow seems to stretch for miles. I can't see any source of water. On my right I see some rocky hills, to my left a barren wasteland. Behind me are deep woods. It seems as if the Gamemakers have covered all their bases this year.

I quickly turn and study the woods again. They don't look like the woods from Katniss' games – these have thick trees whose trunks look almost red, and reach high up into the sky with spindle-like branches. If it was good enough for Katniss, it will be good enough for me, and I decide to spin around and run towards the woods as soon as the countdown ends. Other than the backpack, there's no Cornucopia in my plan. I sneak another look at Hadley, and try to smile in encouragement at her. She nods, but doesn't smile back. I don't blame her.

I breathe deeply as the countdown hits 10. Shit.

9

I think of my mother.

8

I think of the bakery.

7

I think of Haymitch and Effie and Portia and Cinna.

6

I think of my brothers.

5

I think of my father.

4

I think of Katniss.

3

I think of Katniss.

2

I think of Katniss.

1

Run.

* * *

**A/N – Please don't hate me after the scene between Peeta and Katniss. She'd only **_**just**_** told him how she thinks she feels. I really couldn't see her doing anything more than that, and I feel even then it was probably more than she would have expected to do. But trust me when I say I think Katniss will probably regret pulling away…..**

**This chapter was written to **_**Live Again**_**, by Better than Ezra. Well, specifically the opening scenes between Katniss and Peeta, anyway.**

**I'm now officially on tumblr and A03. Stories will eventually be cross posted there. Details in my bio if you happen to be interested.**

**Reviews, follows and favourites appreciated as always, thank you :)**

**I don't own the Hunger Games. But I own a number of books that are sitting on my shelf, unread, because I'm too busy getting sucked into fan fiction.**


	9. Chapter 9

_**Katniss POV**_

I've chewed my nails to the quick, something I know Effie will admonish me for later. I'm in the lounge area of the penthouse, eyes trained on the gigantic screen, Haymitch to my right, Effie my left. Portia and Cinna haven't returned from assisting Peeta and Hadley at the arena, but I know they will be watching in a control room with the other stylists until the initial bloodbath at the Cornucopia is over. The announcer is counting down, slowly and in a deep monotone, and I study my tributes. Hadley is focused, and isn't looking at anything or anyone. I hope somehow in her peripheral vision, she's getting the lay of the land.

Peeta, on the other hand, can't keep his head still. He's looked in every direction imaginable, and I can see him sizing up the potential items spilling the furthest from the Cornucopia, determining their viability. His gaze had locked on a backpack close to him, and I nod to myself, knowing it was the right thing for him to go for.

"Katniss! That is a _horrible _habit! Stop it at once!" I hear Effie shrill, and I pull my hand away from my mouth guiltily. Haymitch rolls his eyes.

"Are you serious? Can you not see that there's more serious shit going on on that screen than Katniss sitting here, biting her frigging nails?" Effie glares at him, but quietens. They exchange pointed looks as if communicating silently, but I honestly don't care. I need to focus on the countdown that is suddenly rapid in it's approach to 1.

5…..4…..3….2…..Oh God, run Peeta….

1.

There's a slight pause as if no-one knows what to do, and then suddenly all 24 of the tributes spring in to action. Peeta is immediately off his marker and has grabbed the backpack on the fly. He's headed towards the woods, and I'm thankful for his decision. He's made it out of the meadow and into the woods without a backward glance, or another tribute on his tail.

The screen splits, and we're given 4 different perspectives of the arena. The male tributes from 8 and 3 are in hand to hand combat, until the female from 3 comes up from behind and stabs 8 in the back. She doesn't pause to acknowledge her district partner, and he doesn't offer any thanks. They're back on their way – surprisingly together - without a second glance to the tribute behind them.

The images in the other three boxes are so erratic I can't place who anyone is. There is a just an endless amount of blood, and I fleetingly think that I am going to be doing this, very possibly, for the rest of my life. Year upon year, watching this terror unfold.

I suddenly catch sight of Hadley on the screen; she's finally managed to escape the Cornucopia, and is heading towards the area between where the woods end and the rocky hills start. She's limping slightly, but has no visible injuries.

An axe is clutched in her hand.

"Dammit, I _told _her not to go for it!" Haymitch fumes. He whirls on me. "What did you say to her this morning? She could have gotten herself killed in there trying to get that!"

"I told her to do what her gut was telling her to do!" I reply forcefully. "If she could see an axe, it was close by and she thought she could do it, I told her to do it! I wouldn't have lasted 2 days without those items I got with my backpack last year, and I have no regrets about disobeying you on that one."

"You're lucky she got out then, sweetheart," he growls. "Or we'd be having a completely different conversation right now." Effie tells us to hush, and to watch the screen, which we both – reluctantly – do.

The screen occasionally switches from the Cornucopia battle to show those tributes that have left the meadow behind, and I see images of Peeta trudging through the woods, and Hadley navigating her way over rocky ground, careful to keep the line of the woods close to her right. There are a number of others – never a career – who have done the same, and are venturing as far away from the bloodbath as possible. After they haven't shown Peeta or Hadley in over half an hour, I look away. I catch Haymitch's eye and sigh. All the annoyance I felt at him earlier has gone.

"How have you done this every year?" I ask softly, remembering the thoughts I had two days earlier. He shrugs, takes another swig from his flask and stretches his arm out across the back of the seat.

"I just do it. Gotta stop thinking about it so much."

"That's where the drinking comes in, does it? So you can forget?" He shrugs again.

"Something like that….. why, want some?" he tips the flask in my direction, and I push it away. I know I'm not going to get a straight answer out of him.

"You're such an asshole, Haymitch," I mutter, and rise off the couch, storming my way over to the door that leads to the roof and pulling it open. I can hear Effie and Haymitch sniping to each other as I do so, but ignore them as I climb the stairs out into the open, breathing in the cool night air.

I hadn't realised it until now how ill-prepared I was to stand as a spectator when I was being forced to watch the games. Prior to being reaped, I had avoided watching the games as much as I could, and even then only barely paying attention when it was mandatory viewing. The sheer brutality of the games had always weighed heavily, but now, having to be an ongoing participant, it was like I had found myself in a never-ending nightmare.

I study the edge of the building, with its invisible force field separating us from the world below, and I wonder why Haymitch has never tried to end his life, just to be rid of it all.

I hear a throat clear, and I turn to see Haymitch behind me. He rubs his chin, and looks a little sheepish.

"Ah, Effie told me to come up and get you. It's important the Capitol knows you're watching all this," he reminds me. Damn those monitoring devices.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be watching it," I tell him, then pause. There's a part of me that knows I should tell him about Peeta and what I told him last night, another that's too terrified to admit it to anyone else.

"I told Peeta last night I thought I had feelings for him," I blurt before I can stop myself, and cringe. That's not how I expected it to come out. Haymitch pushes a hand into his pocket, and rocks back on his heels.

"Right. So that's what last nights' visit was about. You know I knew you liked him already." It's not a question; he's stating it as fact.

"I still don't understand how you know."

"I know you better than you know yourself. That little story you told me about the bread? I knew it then. I just don't think you were ready to admit it to anyone, even yourself."

"I didn't want to admit it," I sigh angrily. "I _don't _want to admit it."

"How long?" he asks bluntly. I want to stall, but I know he'll keep at me until I relent, so there's no real point in putting it off.

"I kind of kept an eye on him prior to when I was reaped, but when I came back I didn't even think about him. I pretty much forgot about it. Until he was reaped. In all….I guess not long really. But long enough." I certainly don't have a way with words as I stumble over myself. I think carefully before speaking again, because I know I may not like the answer to my next question. "Is it really that obvious to everyone that I might have feelings for him?" He shakes his head, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"I know that bit at the Reaping made a lot of people look a little closer. At the time, I put the word out that your reaction was simply due to the fact that you knew he and Baden were friends, and people bought it like it was on sale. But you've given no hint at all since then. In fact, you've been pretty aloof, sweetheart, and that pisses people off."

"I don't mean to. I just…..don't care about them." He laughs, almost comically.

"It wouldn't take a genius to figure that one out. We've all known you're like that since last year." I roll my eyes. "I guess all we have to do now is figure out how you want to play this."

"What do you mean?" I ask him quizzically.

"Do you say you don't care, ignore it and continue to be aloof? Or do we recognise it, admit you feel the same, use it to sway the sponsors even more?" My jaw drops again.

"Are you frigging serious?" I hiss. He nods. "How can you even ask that question? If I ignore it, it completely undoes whatever Peeta said and did in that interview to win him sponsors." He smirks, as if he's got some private joke he finds hilarious.

"Then you realise this means you're going to have to talk to people, and be nice to them? Actually not make them question what the kid sees in you?"

"Geez, Haymitch, way to make a girl feel good about herself." He pulls the flask from his jacket again – I swear that bottle is _never_ empty – and takes a pull before laughing again.

"It's the truth, sweetheart. You gotta play nice now. You've actually got to admit to people you have feelings for him, and pretend you like talking about it."

Shit. I hadn't really thought about that. It was hard enough to do in front of Haymitch – and to admit to Peeta himself. And now I had to talk about feelings I didn't completely understand – or was even comfortable about - with people I loathed.

"Right. Then we'd better get some sponsors quick, Haymitch. Once we've got them on board, I'm not showing my face in public again at all."

"Oh, I don't know. I might… take my time. I'm kind of looking forward to seeing the great Katniss Everdeen bumbling about talking about her teenage crush…" He winks at me, and begins to make his way down the stairs.

"Damn you Haymitch!" I bellow after him. If he wasn't right so damn often, I'd hate his guts.

* * *

They're down to 13. I watched Peeta listen to the cannons, and count them off on his fingers. It's no surprise the careers are all still there – the highest tribute to go was from 4, and even then it was by their own volition, not anyone else's. After escaping the Cornucopia, he had run for the same rocky hills as Hadley had, but was not as cautious. One slip, a fatal sharp rock piercing his eye, and he was gone.

I'm glad my tributes aren't that careless.

Cinna and Portia had returned not long after the Capitol had projected the images of those who had died into the sky, and we were settled in for a night of viewing. Haymitch and I would begin our sponsor duty tomorrow, but for tonight, it was simply the 5 of us, watching, hoping and praying that the two of them saw daybreak.

"Did he accept the pin?" I whisper to Cinna about halfway through the night. There wasn't much to watch – most of the remaining tributes were either trying to sleep or were already sleeping - but none of us felt like going to bed. I vaguely wonder if they all did this last year for me. He nods.

"He did. He was very surprised. I pinned it on his lapel, under his reflector jacket. I wasn't sure how…displayed you wanted it." I had reluctantly explained to him everything Peeta and I had discussed last night. He hadn't been surprised by my admission, and had agreed to my request.

"Good idea," I tell him. We fall silent again, watching the split screen focus on different tributes. I must doze off, because when I startle myself awake, Portia is asleep on the opposite end of the couch, Effie is preoccupied with her nails and Haymitch and Cinna are nowhere to be seen.

I watch the footage being shown onscreen, and it seems like nothing has changed. The shots continue to interchange between tributes, and I take note that Hadley has taken refuge in a crevice between two rocks. It looks uncomfortable, but at least it keeps her out of view. Peeta has taken my advice, and is asleep in a tree.

I think back to the night before – it was only 24 hours ago, yet it seems so much longer – and my heart beats quicker, remembering how it felt when he kissed me, when he wrapped his arms around me so tightly I almost couldn't breathe _and I didn't care_. Part of me had cursed as I had pulled away from him, begging for more, but I know that I certainly hadn't been ready for anything else – hell, I'd barely been ready for the kiss. I certainly hadn't gone into his room with the intention of being so upfront with him, but there was – is – just something about Peeta that makes me want to be honest with him, even if I don't want to be honest with myself.

Last night, more than anything else, he'd made me feel things I'd never expected to feel. Want, need….lust, had all warred within me, pushing aside all notions that I'd had about not needing anyone in my life. I'm still not certain I'm comfortable with them, but if there's one thing I know, it's that I don't give up on something I believe in.

I believe in Peeta. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of me believes in the possibility of 'us'.

I barely even realise I'm asleep again when I'm jarred awake by Haymitch.

"Get up, sweetheart. It's time for us to get some sponsors."

* * *

I feel awkward, and uncomfortable, and wrong. I remind myself this is why I trade rather than sell my game in the Hob.

Because I'm awful at making conversation, and I'm awful at trying to sell things. Which is, essentially, what I'm doing. Selling Peeta and Hadley to the highest sponsor for a bit of food or first aid supplies. Haymitch is better at the schmoozing than I am. Of course, he's had 24 years of experience doing it.

But I smile when Haymitch nudges me, politely answer a question from a potential sponsor when asked. Even if I think it's ridiculous that I have to deign to answer stupid questions like _'didn't you feel wonderful once Cato had died and you knew you'd won?!'_

Ah no, actually. I felt like shit.

But I smile, and nod, and tell them how thrilled I am to be here. Because I'm not doing this for me, I'm doing it for Peeta and Hadley.

We already have a number of leads, simply from those sponsors who helped me last year. I'm a little more patient and grateful with these sponsors. Many are curious as to my response to Peeta's announcement at his interview, and I try to give them what they seem to want to hear, without keeling over in embarrassment. _'Oh, I was so surprised, but it was nice to hear'. 'Yes, he is a lovely young man, any girl would be lucky to have him.' _At the same time, I don't want the whole day to be about that, so I try to keep those conversations to a minimum. Whenever I do that, though, Haymitch glares at me, and I have to play it up again.

It's a vicious cycle.

We finally come to an agreement halfway through the day that as soon as I can move into my role of distributing the parachutes and am not so visibly public with the sponsors and Capitol citizens, Haymitch will start laying it on thick. Start to reveal that I was secretly thrilled with Peeta saying he loves me, and that I want nothing more than for him to come home, so we can see how things develop. That I need the time spent in private to focus on bringing him back to me. Some of the drivel he's come up with to say is so sickeningly sweet, it's embarrassing.

I just hope that we get a damn sponsor in the bag today so I can go and hide out away from everyone sooner rather than later. Anymore of this, and I'm likely to start drinking with Haymitch.

* * *

We finally return to the Penthouse with a sponsor confirmed. Haymitch begrudgingly admits to me this is the first time he's ever had a sponsor on the first day of negotiations – not even I, in all my Girl on Fire glory, was able to get a sponsor until Negotiation Day 2. 12 doesn't seem to be the distasteful district it once was. As we walk off the elevator into the room, Effie rushes over to us, all aflutter.

"There is an event at the President's mansion tonight, and we've all been instructed to attend!" She sounds excited, but I'm not oblivious to the fact that her eyes are wild and a little startled. _That's it. There is something going on with this woman. I'm sick of not knowing what it is_. Haymitch grips her wrist.

"Is it just us, or all the tribute teams?" he asks forcefully.

"All teams," she assures him. I can see him visibly relax, and I know he was worried that the invite was only for us, because of me and my apparent disloyalty to the Capitol. "It starts in two hours."

"Fine. Go and round up Cinna and Portia. Katniss, go change. We'll meet back here in half an hour so we can go over the 'highlights' from today before we head to the mansion," he instructs. I make my way to my room, where I have no idea what I'm doing without my prep team. I figure a dress is the way to go as I don't have to worry about matching clothes together. I throw on a simple (by Capitol standards) yellow dress and cream flat slip-ons that I think I had heard my prep team refer to once as 'ballet slippers'. I have no idea what that means, I just know that they are the most comfortable shoes I have worn other than my hunting boots.

We gather again in the lounge area to watch Caesar's roundup of the day in the arena. I'm nervous. I know both Peeta and Hadley are alive – the games are broadcasted live to sponsor negotiation venues, but you rarely have an opportunity to stop and watch. The only thing you ever register is the sound of the cannon. They could both be fatally injured for all I know.

The relief is palpable in the room when we see our tributes alive and relatively unharmed. It seems Hadley has received a few scrapes and bumps from stumbling over rocks, but she seems to be fine otherwise. Thankfully she located water, and doesn't seem to be struggling. Peeta found a water source as well, and scored quite well with the contents of his backpack. He almost came into contact twice with other tributes, but kept himself out of sight both times.

I get the feeling he's not actively looking for allies or a fight.

There is only one death – which I'm horrified to see that Peeta witnessed - but a number of tributes are within close enough vicinity to each other that tomorrow could prove to be very different.

"The careers are separate this year," Haymitch muses, and I realise he's right. They've stayed with their district partners, but one and two haven't combined, like Marvel, Glimmer, Cato and Clove did last year.

"Is that common?" I ask, and realise maybe I should have researched a bit more. He thinks for a moment.

"It's a bit hit and miss. There's certainly no pattern to whether they team up or not. Some years it simply comes down to the tributes already hating each other. I know about 5 years ago, the girl from one killed the girl from two at the Cornucopia pretty much in the first 15 minutes. She went on to win, and when they questioned her on it, all she said was 'She talked a lot of shit in training'." I look at him incredulously, but it sounds completely plausible.

A lot of tributes did.

We watch the rest of the highlights, and I'm conscious of how my heart races every time they show Peeta. He's not doing anything exciting – no-one is really – but just the sight of him reminds me of last night, reminds me of what I told him, what he told me. The sight of him reminds me why today's meetings with sponsors were so important.

After it ends, we find ourselves travelling in a town car being escorted to the President's mansion. I'm on edge, as Effie finally told me the second Mentor gathering normally doesn't occur until day 5, and stylists are not on the invite list. There's a celebratory event after halfway – normally about after week - for all of those in teams whose tributes who have reached that far. This event is abnormally out of place.

Once we arrive, we make our way into the mansions' ballroom, where a number of teams are already gathered, and are mingling happily. No-one else seems to be perturbed by the sudden and unexpected event tonight. Tables are scattered throughout the room, heavily laden with food and drink. Soft music is playing in the background. Cinna and Portia immediately head over to where a group of other stylists are gathered, Effie towards a woman who looks identical to her, except she's in lemon yellow, compared to Effie's midnight blue.

I force myself to take a turn around the room, moving from table to table and sampling the food available. As much as I hate the Capitol, their food is indescribable, and I refuse to let it go to waste. I reach towards a platter of strawberries at the same time another hand – this one elegant and tanned - does. I turn and find myself looking into the grinning face of Finnick Odair.

"Well, this just made my evening a whole lot more interesting! An encounter with the delicious Katniss Everdeen!" he smirks. He's everything he looks like in pictures, and more. Bronze hair - that manages to look both styled and wind-blown at the same time - which perfectly complements his golden skin. Vivid green eyes and a charming smile that is both cocky and sultry. I can see why he never lacks female company. Something about his blatant sexuality, however, makes me nervous. Which means, of course, that every word out of my mouth will likely either be sharp or stupid.

"Mr Odair. On one of your few evenings alone, are we?" Sharp it is. Thankfully, he laughs.

"Oh, I'm never alone, Katniss," he replies smoothly. "In fact, I'm here this evening with some friends I've made along the way." He points over to where this years' tribute team from District 4 are mingling in a group. None of them look particularly heartbroken over the loss of their tribute. They simultaneously shoot us both dirty looks, which leads him to laugh again. "They don't like me talking to another districts mentor. But we Victors need to stick together, right?"

I shrug, taking a long sip from a glass of bubbling liquid I retrieve from a tray being carried by a roving Avox. It's not to my taste, but it soothes my aching throat. "I suppose so. You're not a mentor this year, are you?"

"No, thankfully. 4 has plenty of previous Victors to act as Mentors. I've simply come along this year as a guest of the Capitol, and enjoy all the yummy food and the scrumptious ladies," he winks. Maybe it's from spending so much time with Haymitch that I feel like he's not being 100% honest with me. But we're in the Capitol, where everyone plays games. It shouldn't surprise me.

"I can't say much for the ladies, but the food is certainly my highlight," I reply sarcastically, plucking another strawberry from the bowl. He nods slyly.

"Ah yes. There wouldn't be a need for you to look at anyone else at the moment – not with the possibility of a certain good-looking young man coming back to you from the games."

"That's exactly what it is, Mr Odair-"

"Call me Finnick."

"- a possibility is right," I continue, ignoring him. "Peeta has a lot to get through before we can even consider the possibility of him being able to come home as Victor." Finnick has spent the whole time I've been speaking grinning.

"It's so cute, really. A love story in the midst of the Hunger Games. Who would have thought it?"

"Children killing other children in the Hunger Games. Who would have thought it?" I snap back before I can stop myself. _Oh god, Everdeen, what have you done? _My eyes widen in shock as I realise what I've said. I look up, horrified, at Finnick, to see him staring at me. But it's not anger, or disgust, in his eyes.

It's approval.

"Still the girl on fire, I see," he says softly.

"Look, I'm sorry, I shouldn't-"

"Don't apologise, Katniss. It defeats the purpose of what you said." He flicks the end of my nose with his finger, and smiles softly. "Your secret is safe with me, pretty lady." I see him glance over my shoulder, and his eyes flicker. Something in them urges me to turn around, and as I do, I find myself face to face with him.

Snow.

He hasn't changed since the last time I saw him. His mane of white hair, and the snake-like eyes that burn into me. The smell of roses and blood that seem to follow him everywhere envelops me, and it's all I can do not to choke on my own bile. I force myself to be courteous, knowing that I can't cause a scene, or make things any worse for my tributes than they already are.

"Ah, Miss Everdeen, Mr Odair. A pleasure to see two of Panem's most popular Victors together."

"Would you expect anything less?" Finnick replies, all seriousness now gone. He bows dramatically, reaching for my hand and kissing the back of it. "Sorry to leave so abruptly, but I must be on my way. Miss Katniss Everdeen, the pleasure was certainly, unequivocally, all mine." He winks at me, shakes Snow's hand and walks away, leaving me alone in the company of my enemy.

"President Snow. Thank you for the event this evening," I reply. _What the hell? How did I pull that off so smoothly without ripping his head off?_ I refuse to extend my hand to him, but he doesn't seem bothered.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all. I enjoy being able to meet with my previous victors and their teams when I can," he looks around, his gaze landing on each of my team. I know Haymitch has spotted us, and is careful not to let his attention wane from the conversation he is in with another Mentor. It wouldn't do for Snow to know we are nervous. "Quite a pair of tributes you have this year. The young man especially made quite a spectacle during the interviews." My blood boils at the mention of Peeta, but I'm careful not to let it show outwardly. Instead, I let out a little giggle, and hope I don't sound ridiculous.

"Oh yes. Such a surprise to hear. But lovely, nonetheless," I reply. He looks at me, considering.

"You…welcome his advances?" He asks. There's a depth to his question that I don't understand, but I figure Haymitch and I have made our plan, and now I have to lie in it.

"Oh yes. See, I never thought about boys very much, President Snow, but Peeta Mellark has always been so nice and kind and lovely that it's not hard to think of him favourably." _Where the hell am I getting this?! I have never spoken so well in my life. Effie would be so proud. _"And as soon as he announced how he felt about me, it all fell into place. I can't tell you how heartbroken I am that he was reaped. We may never know…." I let myself trail off, hoping that I've made the right move. I've either encouraged him to go after my tributes even more, or he's realised how _beneficial_ it could be for the Capitol – and for ratings - for 12 to stick around for as long as they can.

"Yes, indeed, Miss Everdeen. Very unfortunate. Everyone in the Capitol loves a romance, a love story. They're so taken with the two of you; it's hard not to wish for young Peeta to be able to leave the arena as victor. But we don't always get what we want." His eyes harden, his voice lowers and I feel myself go cold inside. "You're skating on thin ice, Miss Everdeen, but I'm quite sure you already know that. It all rests on you how much, or little, the gamemakers focus on Mr Mellark and Miss Winter. They could have a very…. Easy time in the arena. Or a very hard one. I strongly advise you to tread carefully." He pauses and pastes a smile back on his face. "Well, it's been delightful chatting with you, Miss Everdeen. We all do hope for the best with your budding relationship with Mr Mellark. We wouldn't want you to have to…cultivate other relationships after the games, would we now?" He smirks and walks away, leaving me immobile in shock.

I have no idea what he means. All I know is that it doesn't sound good - and that Haymitch's instincts were, as always, right. Tonight was no tribute team gala. It was simply an elaborate ruse for Snow to remind me exactly who is boss.

* * *

**A/N – ****Last chapters' reviews were awesome, thanks so much! To all those following, thank you, thank you.**

**I posted my **_**Prompts in Panem**_** submissions here during the week if you're interested in reading them. They're also on my tumblr.**

**I don't own the Hunger Games. But I went shopping, and now own three more pairs of shoes. Oops.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Peeta POV**

Escaping the meadow was easier than I imagined. I had grabbed the backpack I wanted and sprinted for the woods, noting that the Careers went straight for the Cornucopia, and the tribute to my left headed towards the wasteland. I lost sight of Hadley as soon as the countdown finished.

The sun was now beginning to set, and I hadn't laid eyes on another tribute all afternoon. I'd run flat out for around half an hour, slowing to a jog, and then eventually a walk. I'd come across a large tree that had fallen, which now provided some camouflage between its thick branches. I shuffled my way in as close to the trunk as possible, and started taking inventory of the backpack. A rope, a small first aid kit, an empty water bottle, a small vial of water purifier, a pack of dried apple slices, a rolled up blanket, a pair of gloves and a small silver object, that upon further inspection seemed to be a flick-out knife at one end and a pair of scissors at the other. All in all, I can't complain.

The cannon had boomed earlier, marking the 12 tributes that had not seen out the first day. Now that the sun had set, I wait to see who didn't make it. I hope Hadley isn't one of them. I nibble on a slice of apple, making sure that I ration what food I have. While Katniss was thorough in explaining to us the best way to set snares and traps for the wildlife, I haven't seen anything in my travels so far that I could even begin to test those skills. The gamemakers may be spiteful enough not to include any wildlife in the arena this year.

The Capitol music begins, and I look to the sky. The male from 4 is first, and I'm a little disappointed. I was desperately hoping at least _one _of the careers from 1 or 2 would go. Pictures keep flashing up – both tributes from district 5, both from 7, the boy from 8, the girl from 9, both from 10, the girl from 11….. I know that this last picture is either going to be the boy from 11 or Hadley, and I hold my breath. As the picture of 11's male tribute flashes up, I let out a sigh of relief. She made it.

Then my heart drops as I realise that 12 teenagers who saw the sunrise this morning didn't live to see the sunset. I rub my eyes viciously, as if to remove the thoughts from my head. It doesn't work.

I think back to the night before, when I was with Katniss. The look in her eyes, the feel of her in my arms. The thought of her is the only thing that I know will get me through. I know I have to be strong, for her and for me. I have to make it out of this arena alive, because even my declaration of love won't be enough to save her from Snow's plans. A small part of me had hoped that if I died, they would let her 'grieve' in peace, and think my death be retribution enough.

I had been kidding myself. Unless I come out alive and make Katniss mine, she's going to belong to every other man in the Capitol.

I intentionally turn my thoughts back to the task ahead - I can't afford to get distracted thinking about Katniss for too long. I need to start looking for water soon, and so far on my travels, I'm yet to see any. It's reminiscent of Katniss' games, where it took her days – and almost to the brink of death – before she found water. I know the Gamemakers have it in for me, but surely they wouldn't want me to die so soon – and from something as simple as dehydration.

I'm pretty sure if they want me to go, they want me to go out with a little excitement, a little panache.

I hear footfalls nearby, and squash myself as close to the trunk of the tree as possible. To my far left, I see one of the Tributes – it's the girl from 8. She's glancing around carefully, but I don't think she's spotted me. I know she's not looking for a fight. Then again, most of us who aren't careers ever are. We're just looking to survive.

I remain quiet. I know Katniss allied herself with Rue, and I can already see the similarity here. But I'm not sure how I feel about allying up with anyone. It would just make it all that harder when they die. I let her continue on, and soon enough, she's out of sight. It's too dangerous to start a fire, and too early to sleep, so I count to 100, then stand, and continue on in the original direction I started in.

Eventually, too weak to go on without any water, I begin to look for something that could be a suitable resting place. There's a cluster of boulders that, upon further inspection, have gaps between them large enough for me to lie between. I place my backpack down in between the two smallest and begin to collect branches and leaves that are strewn across the ground. I'm lucky enough to find a vine climbing up around one of the nearby trees, and rip that down, continuing to collect it as it reveals its trailing path along the ground. With sufficient foliage, I begin to construct a canopy low to the ground, across the two rocks, using the vine, twisting and carefully tucking it into cracks in the rock to hold it in place. I block the gaps with the additional leaves and branches, and stand back to study my work – I'm surprised at how natural and real it looks. I crawl under it, careful to make sure I'm covered head to foot. I reach into my backpack, grip the small knife in my hand, and let my exhausted body rest.

* * *

I wake with the sunrise, and I'm surprised that I was able to sleep well enough through the whole night. I carefully lift the edge of the canopy in front of me, ensuring I can't see any tributes, and hold my breath, listening to the sounds of the arena.

There's no sound other than the faint rustle of the canopy being moved by my own hand.

I slide out from under it and quickly sit up, regretting it immediately. I know my body is weak from lack of water and food, and I reach inside the backpack for the dried apple, gobbling three of the slices before I think twice of it. I feel guilty, but I know I need to be strong if I'm going to find water.

I gather my bearings and try to figure out as best I can the most logical direction to go. I figure it doesn't hurt continuing on the way I was yesterday, and head east.

I'm surprised, but it only takes me an hour to come across a small lake. I fall to my knees at its edge, splashing my face with the cool water. I quickly fill my water bottle and carefully put one drop of the purifier in the container. I can't risk wasting it, as the vial is small, and it may need to last awhile.

I wait impatiently for the water to purify, washing the dirt from my arms as I do so. It feels like forever, but eventually I think half an hour has passed, and I greedily gulp down the water. It feels like heaven. I fill the water bottle again, and place it in my backpack, leaving it to purify. I crawl over to some reeds and lay down in them, using them as a form of camouflage while I rest. It seems my body still hasn't recovered from yesterday.

I've not been in the reeds more than 5 minutes when I see another tribute approach the lake from the opposite direction. I'm not sure who it is, and I have no idea whether they would be friend or foe. I don't care to find out either, because I've decided I'm not going to align myself with anyone. The only one I might reconsider for is Hadley, but I get the feeling that we may not encounter each other. I know she's concerned more than anything of the possibility of us having to kill each other if it came to that, and I completely understand. I certainly don't want to meet Hadley in that kind of situation.

I'm quiet in the reeds, carefully watching the other tribute. I rack my brain, trying to determine who it may be. I think it's the girl from 3, but I'm not sure. She's a petite brunette, and wouldn't be any older than 15. I keep quiet, and in the next second I'm thankful I did.

"About time we found some damned water," I hear an accompanying male voice call loudly. Crap. There's two of them.

"Well, if you'd gone in the bloody direction I'd told you to go in the first place, we would've been here a lot earlier," I hear the female retort. I risk a look, and am surprised to see that it's the two tributes from 3 together. I expected the Careers to stick together, but not anyone from the other districts. Although, I guess if I considered it for Hadley, why should anyone else be any different? I duck down again. My body isn't prepared for a fight.

I try to think back to our time in the training centre, and whether anything about them stands out. My brain stubbornly refuses to yield any information, other than that Hadley took to calling them Friels and Aida, because they reminded her of her neighbours, an old married couple who fought all the time.

"Shut up," Friels snaps. She sticks her tongue out at him, and crouches down beside the bank of the lake, sinking her canteen below the waters' surface. "I don't even know why we teamed up."

"Because you're an idiot, and wouldn't last a day out here without me," she snaps back. Geez, Hadley was right about them. He snorts in response, which makes me think she's hit a sore spot.

Suddenly I see her stand to attention, her eyes scanning the woods.

"Shhhhh," she hisses. "Someone's coming. Get down here in the reeds." He follows her order, and they quickly lie down, practically mirroring my position from across the lake. I'm hoping the tribute she's spotted is coming from their direction, not mine.

It's not long before I can see the tribute, and breathe a sigh of relief when I realise they don't have to pass me to get to the lake. They're cautious, but not cautious enough. The minute they step out into the clearing, Friels and Aida pop up simultaneously, lethally curved knives grasped in their hands. These are obviously their weapon of choice for the games.

The lone tribute braces, startled at the sudden appearance of the two of them. Friels grins, but it's certainly not friendly. It sends shivers down my spine, even from this distance.

"Whatcha doing, little boy?" he calls, despite the fact that there wouldn't be more than a years' age difference between them. The young tribute is frozen in place, from shock, from terror, possibly from embarrassment, as I see the pooling dampness appear on the front of his pants.

Pissing your pants on national TV would be horrifying, but I guess the poor guy's got worse things to worry about.

Finally, he wakes from his stupor, and goes to run, but Aida darts to the left, blocking him off. He looks frantically around, surrounded by the two tributes and the gently lapping water. He takes his chances on the lake and jumps in, starting to swim haphazardly in my direction. Shit. I don't need to worry though – all 6"3' of Friels simply walks into the water, grabbing the back of the kids' shirt and dragging him back out. He throws him on the ground, and Aida stands over him, one foot on his chest, and the point of her knife pointed directly at his throat.

"You picked the wrong day for a drink," she says sweetly.

"I-I…please don't," he whimpers.

"I'm sorry. I can't help you there," she tells him, and slashes the point of her knife across his throat. Scarlet swirls across his neck, down his face, onto his shirt. The cut isn't deep enough to kill him instantly, and I know he's choking on his own blood. I close my eyes – it's bad enough hearing it, let alone seeing it. Finally, his gurgles subside, and I look over again to see Friels calmly filling his water bottle, and Aida washing her knife, both now oblivious to the tribute dead behind them.

The cannon sounds.

* * *

I'd lain in the reeds long after the tributes from 3 left, and the dead tribute removed from the arena by Capitol hovercraft. Now that I had seen death, had seen a tribute take the life of another, it sunk in how deep I was in it. I was going to have to do things like that if I was going to ensure I made it home to Katniss.

I refused to prey on the weak the way they did though.

It was surprising to see the two tributes from 3 act the way they did. Their callousness hadn't come across at all in the training centre, and maybe that was part of their plan. But everything Haymitch and Katniss had said – even the old games I had watched – always gave me the impression that the tributes from 3 were smart and quiet, more book smart than street smart.

I guess this years' tributes just proved me wrong.

Eventually I crawl to my feet, and find that my body feels recuperated enough to continue. I pull the water bottle out of my bag, and drink it dry, before refilling, purifying and placing it back in my bag. As much as I'd like to stay here, I know it's not worth it. The gamemakers would find a way to pull me together with other tributes, and I'd rather do it on my own terms and of my own accord. I tug the pack onto my back and set off, continuing on in the direction I've been going. I have no idea where it leads, but it's opposite to where 3 went, and that's my priority at the moment.

I walk, and continue to walk, for hours on end. I'm starting to worry that my earlier thought – that there wouldn't be any wildlife or game in the arena – has become a reality. I haven't heard the call of a bird, or mockingjays, not even a damned bee. It's like the only life in the arena is the 12 tributes that are left. I reluctantly eat a few more apple slices, trying to ration them as best I can. I just hope Hadley has been able to find some kind of food source in here.

I know it's too early to hope for a parachute. For all I know, Haymitch and Katniss don't even have any sponsors lined up. But I know if the lack of game continues, they'll almost have their hand forced to spend their sponsorship funds on food, and food alone. I hope neither Hadley nor I ever require medical aid, because I _know _that won't be cheap.

As the sun goes down, my stomach aches with hunger, and my knees lock the further I walk. The lack of sound, other than my own breathing and the rustling of leaves, is disturbing. Every crack of a twig makes me nervous, makes me think someone is creeping up on me, although it's always the sound of my own feet on the dry ground.

I'm not known for being a light walker.

Finally I can't take it anymore. I need to rest, I need to sleep. I manage to drag myself in behind a large thicket of bushes that's edged on both sides by massive boulders. Luckily, it's shrouded enough that I don't need to camouflage it any more than it already is.

I lie down on my back, and sigh. I'm almost disgusted at myself, with my lack of energy, my lack of stamina. I'm probably the most boring tribute this year, skulking around, hiding from other tributes, ensconcing myself behind boulders. But I can also recognise that it's not going to get any easier from here on out, and this is just my reprieve before the Gamemakers start to heat things up.

The Capitol music suddenly resonates around the arena, and I look up, wary of whose faces I will see displayed there tonight. The first picture I see is of the tribute I watched being murdered today. He was from District 6.

He's also todays only victim.

I reach up and touch the mockingjay pin on my collar. I'm still amazed Katniss gave it to me. For something that had accompanied her all through her journey, her constant reminder of her district, I'm honoured that she allowed me to bring it back into the arena. I imagine I can feel her fire, her bravery, whatever she feels for me, contained in this small pin. I'm not entirely sure what she was trying to tell me by giving it to me, but I can only hope it's a good thing, that it's a positive indication from her.

I wonder whether Haymitch has told her about his family yet, whether he took my advice. I wonder how she's doing with the sponsors, knowing that it wasn't something she was looking forward to. I wonder if she's thinking of me, like I'm thinking of her.

An uncontrollable urge suddenly washes over me to move the pin to the front of my jacket, where everyone can see it, where Katniss can see it.

Where Snow can see it.

I unlatch it from my collar, and hold it up in front of me, letting the moonlight glint off of it. It's a simple pin, really, that says so much. I pull my jacket tighter to me, and carefully re-pin the mockingjay on its front, just above my heart.

Take that, you Capitol bastards.

* * *

It's still dark when I wake again, but I know it's not far from dawn. My body, despite its food withdrawal, is done with rest. It's ready to go, ready for whatever the Capitol wants to throw at me.

They don't wait long.

The rain is instant, and pours down in thick sheets, soaking me to the skin. I trudge along, tightening the straps of the backpack so it sits more securely. I push my hair out of my eyes – for what feels like the fiftieth time – only for it to drop back down again. I don't know why I bother.

I squint to look ahead, but I can barely see 5 feet in front of me, and the ground is slick with mud. At this rate, it's hard to know if anyone else is around. Anyone could come up behind me and-

I feel the shove in my back, and I tumble to the ground. Mud smears in my eyes, seeps into my skin as I feel hands grip at my shoulders, pushing me deeper into the brown muck. I cough and splutter, my heart pounding uncontrollably, and I _refuse_ to go down this way. I use as much force as I can to heave my body off the ground, and the back of my head connects with the other tributes'. I feel a sticky liquid spurt out and hit my head, my neck, and I know I've broken their nose. Their grip on me releases, and I take the opportunity to twist myself over and out of their reach. I raise to my feet, to see the boy from 9 holding his bloody nose with one hand, the other hand holding a studded club.

He's obviously not very smart if he went for the shove in the back rather than a club to the head. And for that, I'm grateful.

We stare each other down for a few moments, and I'm thankful the rain somewhat camouflages my movements. It's not much, but I reach into my back pocket where I've kept the small flip out knife, and flick it open, careful to ensure 9 can't see it. We circle around each other, and my mind wanders back to all the times I would compete against my brothers in wrestling. I guess that's what I've got to do here. I judge him, judge how I should approach him - 9 is similar in height to me, but probably has a bit more weight than I do. Suddenly he lunges for me, and I'm caught off guard, knocked backwards into the mud. The backpack breaks my fall, the straps digging sharply into the flesh just below my shoulders, while 9 lands heavily on my chest. We grapple, both of us trying to get the upper hand, as we tumble across the ground. I catch an elbow to the ribs, and I grunt in pain, before retaliating, slicing at his arm with the knife. He howls, but it doesn't slow him down – in fact it only makes him angrier. His hands fist in my hair, pounding my head against the ground. Stars dart in front of my eyes, a searing pain stings at the back of my head, and in fury I stab again with the knife, this time catching him between the ribs. I can see the anger glowing in his eyes at the wound I've inflicted. He darts a look to the right, and my heart sinks as I see what he's spied. He reaches for his club on the ground - which he dropped as he lunged at me - and swings it against my leg with as much force as he can muster.

White-hot pain blooms in my leg, my eyes widen in shock and the howl I let loose doesn't sound like it's come from me. My leg is on fire, it's burning, and I have to muster every bit of strength I have to twist over, thrusting my forearm under his chin, cutting off his air supply, the other reaching out to try and hold back the arm holding the club. He kicks at me, trying to dislodge my arm, but I refuse to let go. Glancing over his shoulder, I realise we're on the edge of a steep embankment, and I think if I can get us to roll over, it could get me loose and give me an advantage. I let him flip us over again, and momentum takes us over - we roll down, limbs flailing, knocking into each other. Branches tear at my clothes, cut my face, my hands. I lose my knife halfway down.

I finally come to a halt, and I immediately drag myself to my feet, ready for an attack that never comes. I spot him about 10 feet away, lying motionless, and I approach him carefully. There's no need to, though, as I hear the cannon go off. Almost instantaneously, the rain stops.

I scramble over to him as best I can, before the hovercraft arrives. Bile rises in my throat, but I push it down as I roll him over. The club has embedded itself in his temple, blood pouring from the wound and onto his face and shirt. His eyes stare at me blankly as I hold one hand over my mouth, and grasp the handle of the club with the other, wrenching it free.

I can hear the whirr of the approaching hovercraft, and move as quickly as I can out of the way before the retrieval claw descends and takes the tribute away. I rest against a nearby tree, my breathing rapid and erratic, and begin to take stock of my injuries. The scratches and scrapes are nothing that my first aid kit can't assist with, and the gash on the back of my head isn't deep, but I've left the worst until last. I hesitantly look down at my leg and the slash that has been created in my pants. I carefully rip the tear a little bit more to get a good look at my injury.

The gash in my leg is as big as my fist, bloody and only partially covered with mangled flesh. I can't help it - I lean over and retch, bringing up all the food remaining in my stomach, as well as what feels like half of its lining. My throat burns almost as much as my leg. My head swirls, and the wooziness that has been lingering since I first got hit envelops-

* * *

**A/N – The next few chapters will run concurrently to each other, and will generally pick up where the previous character POV chapter ended. So the next one will see Katniss pretty much immediately after her encounter with Snow.**

**Reviews are appreciated, as are the follows and reviews! Thank you all :)**

**I don't own the Hunger Games. But I own an Uncle Sam-esque t-shirt that reads "I want YOU for tribute". **


	11. Chapter 11

**Katniss POV**

I stumble my way back to the town car, my head filled with a multitude of jumbled thoughts. Cinna and Portia are already there, and the minute they see my ashen face, they bundle me into the car. I don't know what they're saying, all I can hear are Snow's words reverberating around my head.

_"It all rests on you how much, or little, the gamemakers focus on Mr Mellark and Miss Winter. They could have a very…. Easy time in the arena. Or a very hard one. I strongly advise you to tread carefully…We wouldn't want you to have to…cultivate other relationships after the games, would we now?"_

He had laid it out on a silver platter for me, making it known that I would be the one responsible for whatever fate befell my tributes, no never mind that I wasn't even in the arena with them.

I'm jostled in my seat as Haymitch and Effie climb in, concern on everyone's faces. I shake my head imperceptibly, and Cinna instructs the driver to leave. No one speaks on the trip back to the training centre. We all sense that something changed tonight. And I know some members of my team know more than they're letting on.

Instinctively I head for the rooftop as soon as we arrive – I know without a doubt Haymitch will follow me. I'm rewarded as I see him step through the door not two minutes later, Cinna close behind.

"What's going on?" I demand. "Snow was pretty explicit with some of his comments tonight, others a little more….confusing. Spill it. I know you know."

They look at each other, and Haymitch sighs audibly.

"So you get they're pissed with you, right?" I nod – he's told me this already. "Well, sweetheart, I didn't get the opportunity to give you the full story."

"There's more?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. "Wow, I never would have guessed."

"Don't play the smart-ass with me. I tried to spare you from it for as long as I could."

"Spare me from what?" I ask through clenched teeth. Cinna places a hand on my arm, regret obvious in his eyes.

"Katniss, President Snow has plans to sell you to Capitol citizens," he says softly. I furrow my brow, and look at him, confused. My brain is buzzing, buzzing, buzzing…

Oh my god.

"He wants to make me into a whore?" I whisper, my heart shuddering at the realization. How did I miss this? How have I been so oblivious?

That's right. I consistently make the effort not to pay attention to anything the Capitol does or says.

I vaguely hear Haymitch muttering about other victors, Finnick Odair and retribution, but I can hardly focus on what he's saying.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Haymitch finally finishes, and I can almost hear the regret in his voice. "I wanted to tell you, and I was going to tonight, but then Snow sprung the event on us…" he trails off, and for once, he's lost for words.

"How…how long have you known?" I croak out.

"I knew the Capitol wasn't happy with you for a little while now. But it was just before this reaping that I started to hear the whispers about…." He can't finish.

I turn to Cinna. "And you? When did you find out?"

"This, specifically, I heard about 3 weeks ago. Apparently it's been in Snow's mind since he saw the response to you on the Victory Tour, but it's only been the last month that it's made its way out of his inner group of advisors."

I can't look at either of them, and I walk down the central pathway of the garden, between the plants covered in lilac and lavender. The scents that would normally soothe me are doing nothing to still my frantically beating heart. I don't think my mind can fully comprehend what they're saying to me, what they're trying to tell me. Suddenly, I whirl and storm back to them.

"Who else knows?" I demand.

"Effie knows," Haymitch starts. Well, I guess if Effie knows, it goes some way in explaining why she's been acting so oddly. I'm unsure whether it's because she thinks she's in trouble too, or she genuinely cares. Despite her annoyances, I find myself hoping it's the latter.

"What about Portia?" I ask. They both shake their heads.

"No, she doesn't," Cinna says softly. "I've tried to ensure she stays at our studio as much as possible. She's very….sensitive to those kind of things, and the last thing I want to do is worry her."

"Ok. Well, I guess the four of us need to start working on something. Because I'll be damned if I'm going to sit by and let the Capitol take over my life," I fume, then notice their exchanged look. "What?"

"Peeta knows as well," Haymitch mutters. My jaw drops.

"What?" I hiss. "The guy is going into the games, and you decide it's a good idea to tell him that I-" I cut myself off as realisation dawns. "Hell, Haymitch, that's why you encouraged him to play up the love story, isn't it?! It's not just about sponsors! It's about this." He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. His silence says it all. "You've managed to convince him that saying he loves me will save me from being becoming a…a…." I can't even say the word, the agony of it ripping through me.

"Look, sweetheart, I did it for you, I did it for him, I did it for all of us. I'm pretty damned sure that if you were in the same situation, you'd do the same." I open my mouth to argue with him, then close it again.

Dammit. He's right. We think too much alike for our own good.

I'm silent for a few more moments, and I watch Haymitch and Cinna watching me carefully. I'm filled with so many emotions it's hard to decipher one from the other. The one standing out more than anything else, though, is anger.

"Right. Then, like I said, we need to figure out what our next step is. I refuse to…to…do Snow's bidding."

"We still need to be careful, Katniss," Cinna says softly. "After tonight, you should realise that whatever stand we take out here is going to be tripled in retaliation against Peeta and Hadley."

"So what, you just want me to wait around on the off chance that Peeta comes out?! And then if he doesn't, happily take up my place in the Capitol, waiting for my first customer?!" They both wince at my words. "Damn straight we're going to do all we can for our tributes. We've got to get more sponsors, more publicity. Anything to show Snow that it's a bad idea to even try to retaliate against the two of them. I told Peeta before he went into the arena that I stand up for what I believe in. And if I don't stand up for myself, I'm a bloody fool. Neither of you have any idea of what I'm going through right now." I whirl, and start to walk away before Haymitch's voice stops me.

"Go to Peeta's room," he calls. I turn and look at him questioningly. "He's got a disc of my games. Watch it. Maybe you'll realise that I know what you're going through more than you know." I see Cinna glance at him in surprise, then nod at me.

I guess I'm spending the night in Peeta's room.

* * *

His room smells like him. Cinnamon and vanilla – despite the fact he hadn't seen the inside of the bakery in a week – mixed with the undeniable scent that is just him. It's so potent I swear I could turn around and he would be right there behind me.

Although I know it's ridiculous, I do. And am surprised by the depth of the disappointment I feel when he's not there, his lips quirked in his self-depreciating smile.

I make my way to his screen, and press the on button to the projector. The opening sequence to Haymitch's games starts immediately, and I realise this was the last thing Peeta watched before he entered in the arena.

I'm dumbfounded as I watch Haymitch – drunk, obnoxious Haymitch – outwit everyone to win the games. It's painful to watch, any reminder of what I went through feeling like a stab in the heart. While I can understand what he did – using their own weapon against them – may have caused the Gamemakers to lose a little credibility, at first I don't understand how he could have any idea what I'm going through.

Then he returned home.

I could see the joy on the faces of the citizens of District 12, how happy everyone looked. I see Haymitch being enveloped in enthusiastic hugs from a young boy and a beautiful older woman, tears streaming down their faces. You could see the happiness on their faces, the pure elation that he had returned. He then turns to a young dark-haired girl, who is wringing her hands in front of her. Suddenly she flings her arms around his neck and presses her lips to Haymitch's, his arms winding around her waist as he spins her around. They break apart, laughing, and I feel my heart break, a sob catching in my throat.

"Her name was Emmeline," he whispers, and I whirl to face the door to Peeta's room, where Haymitch now stands. I don't know how long he's been there for. He steps inside, allowing the door to close behind him, knocking the half-full bottle of liquor he holds against his leg. He walks straight towards the bathroom, and turns all the taps on. I have no choice but to follow him.

"She….did they do the same thing to her they want to do to me?" I say softly, closing my eyes and leaning against the marble counter. I almost don't want to hear what he has to say.

"No. They killed her," he replies bluntly. My eyes fly open in shock at his words. He nods, and sits on the edge of the bathtub, his elbows leaning on his knees. "Within 2 weeks of getting back, she, my mother and my younger brother were all dead. All because I decided it would be a good idea to use the force field."

"You weren't to know that's what they'd do. You were just trying to survive."

"And I thought I was so good, so smart by doing it, too," he says bitterly. "Here I am thinking I'll get to pull my family out of the Seam, and live in luxury with my girl. Instead, I end up living in self-imposed squalor with my trusty friend here." He swings the bottle he holds lightly in front of him, watching the clear liquid swirl inside the clear glass.

"Did they warn you it would happen?"

"No."

"So that's why you're warning me."

"Sweetheart, my mentor didn't give a shit about me. He had his riches, he had his victory. He'd won his games by being a legitimate murderous asshole, and he didn't care about anything or anyone. It pissed him off more than anything that he now had to share his glory with someone else in the district. If he knew anything about it, he certainly didn't tell me. But I do know, and I'm telling you." He stops, and I realise more than anything else, what he's said about me.

"You care about me?" I ask hesitantly. He snorts.

"Some days I wonder why, but yeah I do. The minute you volunteered for Blondie, I was proud to have you as tribute. Didn't matter if you won or not. You'd done right in my book from then. And that's why I'm telling you. Why I told Peeta. Why I'd rather rot in hell that see them do to you what they did to me."

I study him for a moment as he swigs from the bottle, contemplating everything he's told me. "Why won't they go after my mother, and Prim?" I ask.

"Too visible," he mumbles around a mouthful of liquor. That makes sense, and it's the one comment all night that gives me the slightest bit of peace. No matter what I do, my family is safe.

But Peeta isn't.

"I'm not sure what to do," I admit finally. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Apparently I'm this big thorn in the Capitol's side, and I didn't even know I was doing it. And now that I'm meant to be doing something, I don't know what to do. And I don't even know if I'm making sense….." Haymitch snorts.

"There's the awkward mockingjay we all know-," he starts.

"Don't call me that," I snap. I don't even know why the name upsets me so much. He opens his mouth, but wisely closes it.

"Look, tomorrow's a brand new day. We've missed a lot of the games tonight, and we need to go and see some of it. Then tomorrow, we start again. Onto the sponsors. And I know this isn't what you want to hear, but I think you need to be out there. Snow's expecting you to cower. You need to do the opposite." I nod, because I know he's right.

We turn the water off, and head into the living room, where Haymitch moves to the control panel beside the screen.

"I'll request Peeta and Hadley's feeds first, so we can go over what's been happening since before we went to the mansion. Once we've caught up, if we feel like viewing any of the other tributes, we can." I settle myself on the couch, tense and nervous about what we might see.

Hadley is looking tired and a little worse for wear, but as we watch her progression from late afternoon to late evening, you can see the determination in her steps. She's careful as she walks, both to ensure she doesn't slip, but also that any other tributes that may be around don't hear her. She'd come across an abandoned backpack, presumably from one of the dead tributes, and discovered a few useful items – one of which was a packet of crackers that she ripped open and quickly devoured three of. I'm pretty sure it's her first meal in the arena. After that, she finally lays down to rest. As the camera pans out, and the locations of the other tributes are highlighted, it's safe to say that Hadley shouldn't encounter anyone within the next 10 hours.

Barring any interference from the gamemakers, that is.

Peeta's footage appears, and he's stumbling through the woods; the exhaustion seems to be affecting him a lot more than Hadley. That said, with witnessing 6's death earlier, he's probably feeling emotionally drained as well.

"Looks like the kids are holding up ok," Haymitch notes. "Nothing too exciting."

"Just watch," Effie sniffs loudly from behind him. I turn, startled, to see her standing behind the couch, her eyes bright.

"You're a quiet little mouse tonight, Effie. Where's the tippy-tappy torture chambers you love to wear on your feet?" Haymitch asks, a sarcastic grin on his face.

"It's called carpet, Haymitch, if you ever bothered to take note of your surroundings," she replies, moving around the couch to sit beside me, her 'torture chambers' still firmly on her feet. "Cinna and Portia have retired for the evening. They were both exhausted."

"What did you mean by 'just watch', Effie?" I ask. She gestures to the screen.

"Just that. I watched this live, earlier, when the two of you and Cinna were…." She trails off. "Discussing your wardrobe for tomorrow." I send her a thankful smile, and she dips her head, a blush appearing on her cheeks.

Seems like Effie is more clued in than I realised.

"Is there something important, then?" Haymitch drawls, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. "Because the kids' just lying there in the dirt, snuggling up to some rocks."

"Just wait!" she admonishes.

5 minutes later, it happens.

The Capitol music stops playing in the arena, and almost instantly I see Peeta's hand reach inside the collar of his jacket. He lies there silently for a few moments, staring up into the sky. Then suddenly, as if lightening had struck, his other hand reaches up, and I know what he's doing. Shit. My heart begins to pound erratically, and I can feel the flush on my cheeks.

The mockingjay pin I gave him glints in the moonlight, and he studies it carefully. I hear Haymitch's sharp intake of breath, but I ignore him. Peeta's eyes are filled with something akin to hope as he looks at the pin, then certainty as he straightens his jacket, pinning it on the front for all of Panem to see. And as he looks back up to the sky, I can see it in his eyes, in the set of his jaw.

Fierce determination.

"Jesus, sweetheart, when were you going to tell me that?!" Haymitch explodes the minute Peeta's eyes close for sleep.

"I forgot!" I cry in my defence.

"You forgot?" he repeats menacingly. "You gave your district token to the boy – something pretty damn obvious to everyone – and you didn't tell me? Holy hell, the mileage I could've gotten out of that today! Everyone could have been watching, and known it was from you!"

"Oh, and like I knew he was going to do that tonight?!" I shoot back.

"Hush," Effie says primly, but firmly. "Everyone _was_ watching, Haymitch. We've had numerous callers since it aired, all wanting to set up meetings with you. Even some of the other escorts contacted me, telling me how ingenious your plans were." Haymitch raises an eyebrow at this, and glances at me. I can see his anger starting to clear, the wheels turning in his head.

"Somehow I don't think this was a rebellion plot on Katniss' behalf," he says. "But I'd bet a years' liquor that _he_ knows exactly what he's doing."

"Trying to get himself killed?!" I spit out. "I gave it to him to be his token, to give him inspiration to come out again. Not to flaunt it so obviously to the Capitol, especially now that I know he's aware….." I trail off, and look at Haymitch, who's watching me carefully as I come to understand. I nod slowly. "Dammit. You're right. He knows what he's doing. Snow's going to look at that, and see it as rebellion. Everyone else in Panem is going to look at that, and see it as a…as a…"

"A what, sweetheart, spit it out," he smirks. He knows this is making me uncomfortable.

"A gift from someone he loves," I whisper. He nods approvingly.

"Right. Everyone else is going to be rooting for him now more than ever. I told you he was smart." He drags himself off the couch and looks down at Effie, grinning. "Now, Trinket-buns, it's your turn for some work. Let's get and get this list of people who want to meet with us."

* * *

I lie awake in the dark, my fingers nervously twisting the sheets. It's almost like the morning I entered the arena, my heart and brain knowing something awful is coming, something I can't avoid. To find out that the President of the entire country wants to use you as a plaything for those rich and sick enough to afford it, is enough to send anyone into a stupor. But I can't afford to. I refuse to. I've survived a hunger games.

I can survive this.

The door to my room suddenly slams open, and I see Haymitch standing there, face red, breath erratic. I sit up, startled out of my thoughts, pushing the hair out of my eyes.

"Katniss, you gotta get out here," he grunts, before turning and running back down the hall.

I'm Katniss, which means it's serious.

I throw on the robe hanging on the back of my door, and glance out the window. It's barely dawn. I shuffle my way down the hall, then quicken my steps as I hear the grunts and hisses coming from the screen. I practically run into the lounge to see Peeta rolling across the ground, tangled up with another tribute, the arena a mud pit with the rain teeming down in sheets. I can't even sit – I simply stand, arms hanging limply by my side as I watch Peeta grappling with his opponent. I silently cheer as he stabs out with the small knife, catching the other tribute in the ribs, but my heart stops as I see the camera pan out to include a studded club lying abandoned nearby, then cut back in to show the glint in the other tributes eyes.

A soft moan escapes my lips as I see the tribute reach out, clasping it in his muddy hand, and swinging it mightily towards Peeta's leg. Blood spurts, and the howl I hear fall from his lips is agonising. I slump to the ground, staring disbelievingly at the screen.

_No. No. Not so soon. Not now._

_Not ever._

The thought comes unbidden as I watch Peeta fight for his life. I knew before he went in that I felt something; that I knew I would never heal if he didn't come out alive. Now, my final words to him seem prophetic. Now I know.

_I will cry if he cries. I will suffer if he suffers. I will die if he dies._

I watch as he uses all the strength in his body to roll his opponent onto his back, then as he allows them to roll down a steep embankment. His body tumbles, over and over, the branches of the trees and bushes flinging against his body all the way to the bottom. My heart leaps as I see him immediately climb to his feet, bracing his body for an attack. But the other tribute is silent, is still. The camera focuses on him, and I can see the club, embedded in his head. I watch as Peeta makes his way over and retrieves the club, his face a sickening shade of green as he sees the injury. I watch as he scrambles away as the hovercraft retrieves the body of the dead tribute. I watch as he inspects the cuts and grazes on his body, on his head.

I bring my hand to my mouth as he tears open the rip in his pants, the gash in his leg now visible. I feel tears well in my eyes as I look at the damage the club caused, the studs embedding deep in his flesh and ripping the skin away. He vomits, and I feel like doing the same. I watch as he glances once more at the gash on his leg, as his bright blue eyes roll into the back of his head, and as he slumps to the ground.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OO!" I hear the sob rip from my throat as I watch him lie there, motionless. Haymitch is suddenly beside me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders, his face close to my ear.

"It's ok, Katniss, it's ok," he says softly. "He's ok. There's no cannon. He's still alive." Sobs continue to wrack my body, and he rocks me back and forth like a small child. Hiccoughs cause my body to jolt, every movement bringing a searing pain to my head. Finally, his words sink in. My head shoots up, staring at the screen, and Peeta's immobile body. I shrug out of Haymitch's arms and wipe the tears from my cheeks.

"Get the others then," I tell him. "We've got sponsors to get, and medicine to buy."

* * *

"We're so worried about the boy!" The short, plump woman in front of me exclaims. I can't help but stare at her, more bemused by the colour of her hair – an unflattering shade of tangerine orange with bright purple patterns through it - than listening to what she is saying.

Making fun of what these people wear is all that is getting me through.

Haymitch and I had gone to the closest negotiation venue as soon as it opened. We weren't wasting any time. We needed to get Peeta medication, and we needed it fast. Medication and antibiotics were ridiculously expensive this year, and we were nowhere near close to the financial sum required.

I feel Haymitch elbow me, and I nod. "Yes, we are too. We're just so concerned for his welfare. His leg injury….." I trail off, not really knowing what to say.

"Oh, dear, of course, you know I'm simply dying to sponsor him." Fitting words. "Let me organise for a transfer. What's your minimum?" she enquires, and I tune out. Haymitch can deal with the rest of this one. I eye the people crowding the room, trying to establish the 'legitimate' sponsors from those just there for the excitement, the food. Haymitch had made it clear that close to 75% of those at these negotiations were simply there to feed off the excitement, to say 'They were there' when such and such got sponsored, or that tribute died.

"We got her in the bag," Haymitch whispers in my ear. I look at him in time to see our latest sponsor walk away, and I give her a half-hearted wave goodbye.

"Good. That much more to go towards medication." He winces. "What?"

"Unfortunately, our good friend there was pretty specific in her sponsorship." I was worried about this.

Similarly to when Finnick Odair was provided a trident in his games by his benefactors, occasionally a sponsor can dictate specifically what their funds go towards. It's non-negotiable.

"What is it?" I sigh.

"At least it's useful. She wants food sent." I nod, relieved. I was worried it would be something frivolous, something useless. Although if she had any sense, she would have said medication.

"Ok. We can work with that. I'll head back soon and organise the drop off. I-" I cut myself off as I see Finnick walk into the room with the mentors from 4. Everything Haymitch told me yesterday rushes to the surface, and before I can stop myself, I make my way over to him, leaving Haymitch dumbfounded and alone. He spots me as I get closer to him, and a knowing smile creeps across his face.

I bet he's practiced it for hours.

"Katniss Everdeen, we meet again so soon," he drawls, reaching for my hand and kissing it. I raise my eyebrow at him, and he laughs. The mentors glare at me, but move away into the crowd.

"Can we talk?" I mutter under my breath. As if he can sense my discomfort, he nods, and directs me to a quiet corner. We sit on the bright yellow couch, and I nervously look around. I take a deep breath and start.

"I think I can trust you." He tips his head, and I can see the confusion in his eyes.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I know," I whisper. "I know about you. Because….because they want to do the same to me." I see the denial, followed closely by shock, then acceptance dawn in his eyes.

"In that case, yes," he replies. "You can trust me." I shift closer to him on the couch. While I know these rooms aren't monitored, prying ears could be my undoing.

"I need…..I need to know why you do it."

"You mean you don't know?"

"No. Haymitch may have told me, but I was too in shock to listen. I know they want to do it to me, because they think I'm rebellious. But I thought they loved you." He sighs, and rakes a hand through his bright hair.

"They love me a little too much. In a nutshell, when I turned 18, they threatened my family, then later on, the girl I love." This is sounding familiar. "After my games, the Capitol residents were very…taken by me. There were times when I appeared in public that it seemed like a mob scene. One person was actually crushed to death in a crowd once when I was opening a new store in the Capitol. Snow thought it would get worse if I was ever in a relationship and the citizens found out, so he pretty much told me 'Do this or your family dies.' So I did it. It got worse after they realised I had developed feelings for Annie after her games, but I never considered not doing it. She's too precious to me."

"Do you… do you like it?" The curl of his lip says it all.

"No. And neither does Annie, knowing what I do. But that doesn't stop us being together when I return to District 4. We just have to be very….discreet." My mouth drops open – I'm surprised not only that he takes that risk, but that he's still with the girl he loves. "You're surprised by that. I don't think you should be. The love Annie and I have for each other is more important than anything else. If Peeta comes out, I'm sure he'll feel the same." I glare at him, feeling the fury prickle under my skin.

"I _refuse_ to do this," I hiss. He physically jerks back from the venom in my voice. "I will not let Snow do what he wants with me. _I won't stand for this_. I'll do everything in my power not to." He stares at me for a few moments, before he smiles slowly. It reaches his eyes, and looks genuine. This is a Finnick that I'd want to know.

"I think I believe you," he replies. "And….and I think if you need another person on your team, I'm up for it." He stands, looking over to his team who are eyeing us suspiciously. "Good luck, Katniss Everdeen. Keep me informed." He nods once and walks away. It might just be me, but he looks like he's lighter on his feet.

Maybe, just maybe, if I can stop this for me, I can stop this for him.

Later that day I send the parachutes containing food. One to Hadley, one to Peeta. They're identical, except for the note.

I need Peeta to know.

* * *

**A/N - Reviews, follows and favourites are much appreciated!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Peeta POV**

I can feel grass rubbing against my cheek and a sharp rock digging into my ear. I slowly open my eyes to see the arena spread out before me, the deep orange glow of the sunset disappearing behind the treetops. My head aches and I'm not game to move it yet. I wriggle my fingers, grasping at the loose dirt beneath them. I gamely move my right leg and despite vague feelings of pins and needles, it's fine.

My left leg is another story.

The slightest movement sends a blinding white lick of pain up and down my leg, shooting down into my foot and fighting its way up my hip. I close my eyes and bite my lip, fighting my way through it, trying to ensure I don't pass out again. Knowing I'm watching the sunset means I've been out all day, so I'm damned lucky I haven't bled out. But the fact that my injury has been left unattended for so long makes me hesitant to even look at it.

I slowly lift my head, resting on my elbows to push my upper body off the ground. It's not a pretty sight. Congealed blood covers my thigh, the pants that were once a dark green now a muddy brown, both from the blood and the fight in the downpour. The ground beneath my leg is rough and coarse from dried blood.

I raise myself a little higher and sit up so that I'm no longer supporting myself on my hands. I pull the backpack from my shoulders – which I'm surprised to find still attached to me – and pull out my canteen along with the blanket. I pull aside the material of my pants to look at my injury again, and it's still no more visually appealing than it was yesterday. I carefully pour some of the water across it, trying to clean some of the blood and dirt away from the wound. It stings like hell, but I grit my teeth and fight my way through it. It's not ideal, but I rip a long strip of the blanket off and wrap it around my thigh as tightly as I can, tying it at the side. It's not until I've leant back again, my body exhausted from the effort it took to try and clean the wound, that I notice it, just a little to my right.

A parachute.

I can't help the little thrill that runs through me knowing that something Katniss had sent specifically to me was sitting so close by. I ignore the sharp pain in my leg as I twist, reaching out to clasp the cold metal of the rounded box. I drag it towards me, the parachute twisting itself in the small twigs and snagging on rocks. I drop it into my lap and eye the parachute. It was still in decent condition, and it would probably work as another bandage for my leg when I need it.

I rip it from the cords that connect it to the box containing whatever Katniss deemed worthy to send me, carefully flattening it, folding it, and placing it in the front pocket of the backpack. I wrap the cords around my hand, making them into a small circle and place it with the parachute.

Finally, I can't control my curiosity anymore and carefully open the top of the box. It's not small like most of the parachutes I've seen before, more the size of a shoebox, and the minute I open it, I understand why.

Katniss has sent me food.

My heart drops a little, knowing I had hoped for medicine, but I think my earlier assumptions may be correct, that it's just too expensive. I guess food will give me strength, and that's better than nothing.

I reach into the box and pull out a small loaf of bread that, while no longer hot, is still fresh, a small bottle of what looks like orange juice and a flat container that, upon opening, reveals Katniss' favourite lamb stew. I smile to myself, knowing that she picked this intentionally. My stomach rumbles at the smell, and I realise I'm ravenous. I don't care that I'm covered in blood, that the faint smell of vomit still lingers in the air. I need to eat, and I need to now.

I try to eat as slowly as I can, savouring the taste, knowing that I shouldn't rush it, lest I bring it back up again. I'm about halfway through when I glance back at the box and notice the small folded up piece of paper. My heart thuds as I tentatively reach a hand towards it and clutch it in my palm. I know it's from Katniss. It _has _to be from Katniss.

My thoughts of food abandoned, I put the container down and finger the corner of the note nervously. I want to know what's in the note more than anything, but there's another part of me that's so nervous to open it that it almost makes my head spin.

That, of course, could also be a result of losing a shitload of blood.

I slowly unfold it, and am slightly disappointed to see that it's not handwritten, instead typed in careful bold script. But then I see the words; all disappointment flees. And I know.

_I'm going to help you like I know you're helping me. Come home._

I stare at it, as though if I take my eyes of it, it will disappear. I know that Katniss finds it difficult to find the right words to what she wants to say, and I also know she's not going to proclaim any sort of feelings she may have for me on a note. That's why I know that every word on this piece of paper was thought about carefully and that she means every single bit of it. I guess Haymitch finally told her.

I reach for the stew and begin eating again, slow, careful, measured bites. I wonder how he told her, what he said, how she took it. I don't suppose she would have taken it very well, but I hope that Haymitch was at least a little sensitive in telling her – although I know it's a lot to ask. As I eat I alternate between looking at the note and up into the deepening twilight, waiting for today's tribute roll call. It's not long before the music begins and the images flare to life in the night sky.

It's the girls from 6 and 2, and my friend with the club. It seems it was a busy day in the arena, and we're down to 9. After only three days, we've lost 15. At this rate, the Capitol will be lucky if this years' games last a week.

The pain in my leg is making me weary, and before I doze off I put the uneaten bread and remaining stew back in the box, placing it in my backpack. There's no point in me moving now, when its night and I won't be able to see anything anyway. I eye a cluster of low-lying trees to my right and figure I've got enough energy to pull myself to them and hide within their ground sweeping branches. I slide the backpack over my shoulder and slowly drag myself across the ground until I'm ensconced in the branches and leaves. Their deep green manages to camouflage me well enough, and the mud that still covers my face and arms hides my pale skin. It's not the most convincing of hiding places, by in my current state it's the best I can do.

I close my eyes and wait for sleep, thinking of Katniss as I drift off.

* * *

_Peeta._

I can hear my name being called in my sleep, but I ignore it. Mother knows today is the only day I can sleep in, so the fact that she's trying to wake me up seriously pisses me off.

_Peeta._

The voice comes again, and I'm confused. It doesn't sound angry, or sharp, or short like it normally does, like she's almost spitting out the end of the word in disgust.

_Peeta._

Now it sounds frustrated and annoyed, and I understand. I open my eyes. I'm not in my bed, back home in 12. No. I'm hidden under a tree, battling a leg injury that I'm worried is going to cause me to bleed out.

And I'm staring at Katniss.

Part of my brain registers that this can't be real, can't be true. But the other part, the part that believes she is capable of anything, wants to reach out and touch her, run a finger gently down her smooth olive skin, to confirm that she's there. So I do.

_And she is_.

My face must register my shock through the mud and dirt and she smiles.

"Don't be so surprised," she says quietly, her grey eyes bright with amusement. "You really think I'd leave you alone in here?"

"You – you can't be, though. I'm in the arena, Katniss. They wouldn't even tell you where it is, let alone send you in here!" She holds a finger to my lips, and leans in, whispering in my ear.

"You know as well as I do Peeta, that an arena is precisely the kind of place they want me," she says softly. Her breath tickles my ear, and despite feeling like I'm on deaths door, I can't deny the reaction my body has to her. She smiles wryly at me as she leans back on one hand, then glances down at my leg and her smile quickly fades. "I hope you know why I wasn't able to send you medicine."

I nod. "Yeah, I think so. Too much," I say, hopefully cryptically. I'm not stupid enough to think the Capitol wouldn't be able to hear us if we speak loudly enough.

"Got it in one. We're trying, I hope you know that." I nod again, and she reaches out, gently brushing aside a limp lock of hair curling across my forehead. "I know what Haymitch told you, about….about me."

"I hope you're not mad he told me."

"No. I was angrier more than anything that he took your mind off of your games to do something like that." I shake my head.

"But I wanted to. You know…. You know how much you mean to me." She looks away at that, embarrassed, but I forge ahead anyway. "I'd do anything for you, Katniss, I really would." She looks back at me, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks again, and she rests a hand on my arm.

"Do whatever you want," she starts, "Just don't die on me."

"I won't," I whisper. I simply look at her, trying to memorise her face. The faint crease lines between her eyebrows, the shimmer of her grey eyes, the way her braid falls across her shoulder like a coiled rope. The faint pressure of her hand on my arm is comforting, and I find myself relaxing. I close my eyes. When I open them again, she's gone.

I can still feel the warmth of her touch on my arm.

* * *

I wake the next morning a little concerned for my mental health. I know the conversation I had with Katniss hadn't actually happened, but I had felt so lucid at the time, and she felt so _real_, that I could almost conceivably believe that she had been here last night. But I know I've lost a lot of blood, and watching tributes in the arena have hallucinations in other years gives me some kind of idea that what is happening to me isn't entirely unusual in this situation.

It's quiet in the arena – there's a stillness that remains, that hasn't seemed to have shifted since the first day. The absence of noise and life almost breaks my heart with its solitude.

I pull the remains of last nights' meal out of my bag, and finish off the stew, though I leave the bread, knowing I have to continue to ration. The stew tastes just as good as yesterday, probably even better. Once I finish eating, I know I have to continue on - I can't linger here forever.

I struggle to sit up, and take a look over my makeshift bandage. There are slight bloodstains on it, but it isn't soaked like I expected it to be. Maybe, just maybe the blood has started clotting. I elect to leave it as is at the moment, and hold on to the parachute material for as long as I can. If, assuming I'm right, and medication is too expensive, I may have to continue to perform my own rudimentary first aid on my injury for a while yet.

I slowly drag myself from underneath the cluster of trees, and once I'm at the edge I use the lowest branch to help pull myself to my feet. All the blood rushes from my head – it's been well over 24 hours since I was in a vertical position – and I can't put too much pressure on my leg. I grimace at the pain that spears down from my thigh, and realise I won't be able to walk very far without some form of additional support. I glance around and notice a long, relatively sturdy looking branch that seems to have broken off one of the trees during my downhill tussle with 9. I limp my way over to it, and reach down as best I can to grasp it and hold it like a cane.

It's sufficient, and I figure it's better than practically jumping around on one foot, which I know I was headed for without something to assist me. I look at the sun, pretending that I know what I'm doing and what I'm looking for.

Let's face it. I have no idea where I'm going.

I head towards what I think is the hilly area of the arena. I don't even know if I'm right, but I have to head somewhere. In the end, it doesn't really matter what direction I go in – if I venture too far away from everyone else, the gamemakers will just bring me back anyway.

The day is long, and the further I walk, the worse my injury feels. My steps become slow and measured, and I'm careful so that I don't trip myself over. The gamemakers have obviously decided it's time to pump up the temperature, and sweat drips down my back, down my face as the sun burns.

Suddenly I hear the faint sound of rushing water, and its music to my ears. After being in such a mute arena, any sound other than my own breath is welcoming. I trudge my way closer, until I find myself standing on the bank of a fast-flowing river. The water looks fresh and cool, and I realise it's my opportunity to clean my wound. I remove my backpack, placing it on the dry ground alongside my make-shift cane, and hobble my way over to the waters' edge. I take a quick look around and shrug. I guess the first time Katniss sees me with my clothes off is going to be on a national broadcast.

I carefully strip my pants off, wincing as the material catches on the gash. I throw them on the rock beside me - I'll get to them once I've finished with my leg. It's not a pretty sight when I pull the makeshift bandage away – blood congealed and dried to black merges with the matted and mangled flesh and fresh blood that continues to seep out slowly.

I clean it as best as I can then cover it with the parachute material, wrapping the parachute strings around it, trying to keep it as secure as possible. I throw the pants in the river and rinse the blood off them, then lay them back out across the rock. It's dangerous to be so out in the open, but the cool water is a welcome relief and after hobbling around all day I really can't be assed moving.

I lay there in the sun for well over an hour, until I figure I've pushed my luck as far as I can. I pull on my slightly damp pants and am slipping the backpack on when I hear the sounds of giggling and laughing, and I curse to myself. The last thing I need is an interaction between myself and other tributes, because I know damned well I won't survive. I try to be as quiet as possible as I struggle my way over into the tree line. At least over the noise of the river, they're not likely to hear me.

The roots on the trees around here are massive, and there is one wide and high enough for me to sit behind. The same type of vines that I saw on my second day in the arena cover the ground, and I know it's an opportunity for me to use them again. I rip them out of the ground and have just finished draping and placing them as naturally as I can over the roots, when I spot a flash of colour move out of the trees to my right towards the river. I dive under the vines, and instantly regret it. I hit my leg against the root and almost double over in pain, biting sheer through my lip in the agony. I can taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth, but I'll take that any day over being discovered.

At first I think it's the tributes from 3 again, but a quick glance over the top of the tree root shows me two blonde tributes, covered in blood, their faces wreathed in smiles. I watch as they joke, and laugh about the male tribute from two who they killed today. I watch as they clean their weapons and clothes in the river. I watch as they discuss who is left and how they are going to kill them. I watch as the girl pantomimes another tribute dying.

I'm too busy watching to hear the person come up from behind me until I feel the hand on my shoulder. I tense, but I don't dare turn around. I know my eyes are wide in terror.

"Hello Peeta," a voice says softly, and I relax. I turn, which isn't easy when I'm covered in vines, and smile.

"Hello Hadley."

* * *

_Earlier…_

If Effie saw me right now, she probably wouldn't think too much of me as I trudge through the woods. My clothes are matted with dirt and blood, my nails are more stained than I've ever seen them in my life and I know that if I looked in a mirror, my hair would look like Betsy Waterson's after we've finished playing kickball at recess.

But at least I'm still alive, because that almost wasn't the case this morning.

_I'd found the fact that I could walk relatively quietly an advantage I didn't know I'd have. The arena had been quiet – too quiet, really - and the slightest noise made me jump. It hadn't stopped me, though. I thought I'd made my way pretty stealthily around the arena, taking Katniss' advice more than anything else I'd learned. She was a hunter, so I figured she knew what she was talking about._

_I'd seen a few tributes along the way, but never close enough to result in talking to them or fighting with them. I'd found water pretty easily, and had even come across the abandoned backpack of a tribute who'd already died._

_I'd been feeling pretty good since yesterday, when I'd received a parachute with food. It had tasted so good, some kind of lamb stew and I'd gobbled it so quick I'd felt sick. But I'd managed to keep it down, and had smiled at the note Katniss had sent to me._

"_Be a hunter, and observe."_

_I'd been a bit confused, but whatever. At least she'd been sending me stuff._

_I'd been sliding around a rock face, singing the valley song silently to myself when I'd caught the flash of red to my right. My heart had thumped like crazy and I swear I'd almost shit myself._

_It had been another tribute. _

_She'd seen me at the same time I'd seen her, and we'd just stared at each other. It had been the girl from 4, Wylee. I'd remembered her from training – she'd spent most of her time in the edible plants section, so I'd had no idea if she was good at anything, fighting-wise. I remembered, more than anything, thinking she had nice hair. At first I'd thought she was going to keep going, that maybe she didn't want to kill me. Then a smile had crept across her face, and holy crap, she'd looked evil._

_It was action time._

_I'd reached towards my belt, where my trusty axe had been tucked into the back since day one. She slowly sidled towards me, one hand on her hip, the other gripping something. I hadn't been able to see what it was from the angle I'd been standing._

"_How's it going,12?" she'd asked when we'd almost been face to face. I'd wondered if she wanted to trash talk more than fight. I hadn't said anything. I'd been pretty nervous, and hadn't wanted my voice to waver, and give me away. "Got any kills yet?"_

"_Not yet," I'd muttered. A smirk had crossed her face._

"_Not __yet__, huh? You actually think you're going to?"_

"_Why not?"_

"_Why not?" she'd snorted. "You really think District 12 is going to have another tribute this year who does something? Katniss Everdeen was nothing but a fluke." It had pissed me off that she brushed Katniss aside so easily._

"_Katniss was __not__ a fluke, 4." If she couldn't be bothered using my name, I wasn't going to use hers. Her bitchiness had done nothing but get rid of my nerves. Her eyes had sparked, and I realised she'd been enjoying the bickering. Weirdo._

"_Oh, so you think you're going to do something in here, do you?" Wylee had drawled. I'd glanced down and seen it was a knife she held. She'd been close enough that she could just stick me with it. We'd just continued to look at each other, like a stand-off._

_Suddenly she pounced on me, sliced at my arm and ripped at my hair. Crap, she fought like a girl. I'd yanked her hair back, figured I'd give her a taste of her own medicine. She'd squealed, and it had been such a pitiful noise I'd almost laughed at her. We'd grunted and grappled for what felt like forever, until she'd poked me in the eye, the little bitch. My vision fuzzy, I'd fallen to the ground, and she'd leaned forward, crushing her foot down onto my chest. It had hurt like hell, but I knew I had an axe in my belt and I knew how to use it. I'd shoved my arm under my back, and she'd looked at me like I was stupid. I think she'd been more surprised than anything when I'd pulled the axe from behind my back and swung it toward her leg. She'd fallen to the ground._

_Her foot had stayed on my chest. Along with a pool of blood. _

_Holy shit._

_I'd cut her foot off._

_Her howls of pain had finally registered and I'd looked at her on the ground nearby, her body writhing around in pain. The blood that had poured out of her leg had been enough to make me sick, and I'd spewed all over the ground, knocking the foot off my chest as far away as I possibly could in the process._

"_You little bitch!" She had managed to screech in between her sobs. Anything she'd said after that had been unintelligible, until her howls had become whimpers and her breathing shallow. I'd been frozen in horror. I couldn't believe what I'd done._

_What felt like hours later, I'd heard a cannon sound, and rolled over to see her still, her eyes glazed over. I'd known I had to move, had to get away before the hovercraft came. I'd stumbled away, as far away as I possibly could. The ground was still rocky, but I'd been close to the wood line, and had headed for there. I'd pulled my jacket off and thrown it to the ground, continued to walk away from it. I hadn't wanted her blood anywhere near me. _

_I'd killed someone. I was 14 years old, and I'd just killed someone._

I kept walking and walking, trying to calm myself down as I remembered that morning. All I could see over and over again in my head was her foot. I'm not stupid, and I know that killing other tributes is the only way to get home, but I hadn't ever really thought how bad it might be.

Its times like this I really miss my mother. I miss 12, I miss my family and friends, dammit, I even miss stupid Betsy Waterson and her shitty hair.

I come across the tributes from one, and follow them for a while, as quickly and quietly as possible. I watch as they laze around by the river, and I'm pissed off that I can't take advantage of the cool water while they're there.

That's when I see him.

I watch him, and I'm so happy to see a friendly face that I almost call out to him. But I remember the other tributes and keep myself quiet. I watch as he quickly lays out some vines across a big tree root, and notice that he's limping. I wonder what happened there. He crawls under the vines, and then he's gone.

Shit, his camouflage stuff is good.

I figure there's no harm in hanging out with him for a while, and I know he's not going to hurt me anyway. I need a break after the stuff that went down this morning with 4. I quietly make my way over to where he's hiding, then drop down to all fours and crawl the rest of the way. The last thing we need is for 1 to see us now. I'm right behind him when I reach out a hand through the vines and touch his shoulder. He freezes.

"Hello Peeta," I say softly, and I feel him relax. He turns, and a smile graces his face.

"Hello Hadley."

* * *

**A/N - I'm not going to lie, this chapter was really hard for me to get through. **

**I know it's a little different to other chapters, I only hope that you enjoy it. I felt the need to show a bit of what Hadley was experiencing, other than just through Katniss. Special thanks to i-live-in-district12, who gives me a thumbs up or a kick in the ass when required.**

**I'm not sure when the next update will be, as for the next two weeks I'm going to be immersing myself in the madness that is writing submissions for Prompts in Panem. So it probably won't be until after that. For those of you who have so kindly followed/favourited _A Hard Answer to Question_, same goes there. I actually had a chapter written for that and then I hated where I was going with it, so I dumped it. Hence there's been a bit of a delay there.**

**Your favouriting, following and reviewing is absolutely appreciated. Thank you. :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Katniss POV**

It's been the longest day of my life.

I'd slept poorly, my dreams filled with visions of mutts, and Rue - even Finnick - invading my dreams, their helpless calls to me going unanswered. I'd dreamt of Hadley, lost and alone in the arena. And I'd dreamt of Peeta, lying in my arms, his friendly blue eyes dimming until the life had all but disappeared from them.

My own screams had woken me long before the morning sun had peeked over the hills surrounding the Capitol.

Finally Haymitch had sent Cinna in to calm me down and get me out of bed, and by mid-morning we had set up camp at negotiations, trying to obtain as much sponsorship as we could. I had to be polite and friendly, while on the inside I had just wanted to curl back up in bed.

As a result, if I had to speak to one more Capitol resident, blood would likely be shed.

Their incessant nattering, whining, fluttering, eating, simply _existing_ had earlier driven me to attempt to take Haymitch's flask from his pocket, just to give myself some kind of relief.

He wasn't a victor for nothing, though, and the withering glare he shot me as he caught me trying to reach into the pocket of his jacket was enough to make me rethink my venture.

Eventually, every time I felt that my frustrations were about to overwhelm me, I realised the only thing that calmed me down was reminding myself of why I was doing this, why it was so important. Everything I was doing, every person I was speaking to, brought me one step closer to bringing Peeta out of the arena, and that's all that mattered.

And at least the day hadn't been for nothing. By the time we finished, we had more than enough to cover medication for Peeta, with some in reserve for anything that Hadley might require. We knew they were both alive, but once again, while we were in negotiations, we had been kept in the dark about specific events. We had no idea what had happened to our tributes in the arena throughout the day; now I just want to be alone, and watch the days' footage to make sure nothing serious had occurred.

I crawl into bed - my belly full of Capitol food that I still feel vaguely guilty over eating - queuing up the footage for Peeta and Hadley and splitting the screen so I can watch them at once. Thankfully, the day itself seems to have been uneventful for both of them, but my concern for Peeta grows every minute he is unconscious. I'm no healer, not like mother and Prim, but I know it doesn't particularly look good.

It takes me trolling through the footage until near sunset in the arena that he wakes, and the feeling that envelopes me as I see those blue eyes flicker open is overwhelming - relief, mixed with hope, and another emotion I don't fully understand. It's just _there_, making me feel, making my heart ache just a little. I continue to watch as he inspects his wound, and the gamemakers are voyeuristic enough to zoom in on the damage for us all to see. It's pretty damn disgusting, and I'm thankful that as of tomorrow morning, I'll be able to send something in to him that should help. I smile as he finds the parachute and the food inside, and ingeniously saves the parachute itself for later. I can't help the little shiver that runs through me as I watch him read my note, and from his face, I can see he understands.

The footage finally catches up to real time, and I watch Peeta and Hadley live. In their respective parts of the Arena, they sleep, recharging their tired, aching bodies for the day ahead. I go to switch off the footage, but stop when I see Peeta reach a hand out, and trail it through the air.

_What the hell is he doing?_

Then I hear him speak.

Oh no. _Oh no._

I'm not sure I can be any more embarrassed than I am right now, watching Peeta have a conversation with a hallucination of me. When he says he'd do anything for me, my heart stumbles a little, but I also feel like crawling under the covers, hiding from everyone and never coming back out. It's awkward to watch, but I can't look away, every instinct in my body yelling at me to listen to the words he's saying.

I turn the screen off when he seems to fall back asleep, and I pull the comforter up under my chin, thinking of what Peeta had just said, how sincere, how honest he sounded. The more Peeta acts like this, the harder it is trying to convince myself that he won't change my life in some way.

I sigh, because the answer is there, hard to avoid.

I think he already has.

* * *

You can practically hear Haymitch's jaw drop.

"Holy shit. Did you just see that?"

"Yeah. I saw it."

"I can't believe that just happened."

"Me either."

"Just…. holy shit." The amazement in his voice is obvious, and even I'm a little bit shocked. I can't take my eyes off the screen, off the blood, off the _foot_.

Hadley has just sheer chopped off the foot of the girl from 4. Just pulled the axe from behind her back and swung. I'm still not sure how she didn't manage to slice her own face off in the process.

I guess she _does_ know how to use an axe.

I watch, unable to move from my spot on the lounge, transfixed on the footage of Hadley in almost a catatonic state, and the other tribute howling, then whimpering, then mewling, as the blood flows out of her injury and her life ebbs away. I vaguely hear Haymitch muttering to Effie from their end of the couch, but I don't pay any attention. At the moment, every thought is geared toward Hadley, willing her to stand, to keep moving, to get away for when the hovercraft will arrive.

I don't doubt for a second that Hadley will soon have her first kill recorded in the arena.

It's times like these, when Hadley shows strength and courage beyond her years, that guilt creeps up on me, reminding me that I am actively choosing Peeta's life over hers. It's not something I like, or that I'm particularly proud of, but Haymitch had warned me a long time ago that the best you can ever expect is to get one tribute back.

And with Peeta, it's more than just simply bringing him home. It's knowing that by saving him, he'll be saving me. In more ways than one. That thought still sits a little uncomfortably on my shoulders.

"You ordered the medication yet, sweetheart?" Haymitch interrupts my thoughts. I look at the screen, where it's evident that neither Hadley nor 4 are moving anytime soon. I shake my head. "Well, it's probably time we did. Effs here can keep an eye on our little tree-lopper here, can't you?" He smirks, but Effie simply continues to watch the screen, not rising to his bait.

"Of course I will, Haymitch, she is my tribute too after all. I'll keep you both advised of any developments." I mutter thanks to her, and rise from my spot on the couch, making my way to the small control room we have in the penthouse.

I'd never known of its existence last year. It's kept a secret from the tributes, and it wasn't until Peeta and Hadley had entered the Arena that Haymitch had led me to the door secreted in the corner of the lounge, camouflaged by decorative plasterwork and cornicing. If he hadn't shown me, I would have been hard-pressed to ever find it.

It wasn't an exciting room by any means, simply a table, two chairs and a wall screen that maintained current and extensive lists of every available option that could be sent to your tributes. Compared to the dizzying colours and architecture of the city, part of me prefers the basic simplicity of this room above any other place in the Capitol.

The food parachutes I had sent to Peeta and Hadley had been simple and easy. The funds were already there, the food just waiting to be selected, and I'd known from the start what meal I would send to them if I ever got the chance. Medication is another story, though. Haymitch and I are just going to have to make a guess from whatever is available, with the little data provided to us by the gamemakers as to their contents and purpose. After last years' games, it was obvious that Capitol medicine is vastly different to what we can access back in 12.

Haymitch closes the door behind us, watching as I turn the screen on. He enters the code we require to access the system, and we wait, watching as the available options populate.

"Right, sweetheart, what are we looking for?" He sits down, props his feet on the table and looks at me expectantly.

"I have no idea. Whatever is used for serious lacerations and infection?" He rolls his eyes, and I don't blame him.

"That's more than a serious laceration, sweetheart. Didn't you learn a damn thing from Blondie while you were home?"

"What my family has access to in 12 is pretty different to what I see on this list, so no, I didn't learn a 'damn thing'," I retort. We glower at each other, two people as stubborn as the other, until I shake my head and look away. We sit there, silent, as we read through the options available. At first I'm not even looking at the sum required, only reading through the descriptions of the various Capitol medications. It's not until I hear Haymitch curse under his breath, and look at his line of sight that I realise.

In the last 12 hours, the Capitol has retaliated.

We would never be able to afford capitol medication to send to Peeta. Not if we combined every donation we received this year, or next year, or the next ten years. The Capitol has increased the price of every single item associated with medications to levels I wouldn't have thought existed.

"Shit. There's our next payback," Haymitch groans, dropping his feet from the desk onto the floor with a loud thwack. I'm still staring at the screen, trying to comprehend the audacity of the gamemakers, and Snow.

It's one thing to retaliate against our tributes, but it's another to do something that could affect every single person in the arena.

"Haymitch, it doesn't just affect us," I say quietly. I can barely get the words out. I can see the minute the realisation hits him as well, and he kicks the side of the chair, sending it flying into the corner of the room. "I just don't understand. We haven't even done anything that could remotely be seen as rebellious. All we've done the last few days is try and get sponsors!" He whirls on me, seam grey eyes blazing.

"You still don't get it! It doesn't matter what we do _now_. The damage was done a long time ago, sweetheart. Anything we do now is just additional leverage against us. The boy's stunt with the pin the other night probably pissed them off even more, and the minute he got his injury, they probably thought it was the perfect opportunity." I stand too, and begin to pace as I try to think of something, _anything_, we could do.

But there isn't, and we can't. Unless a miracle happens, Peeta is dead.

Haymitch slams the door open and storms back out, startling Effie from her position on the couch. Her stammered scolds don't make a dent as he strides right past her. I don't know where he's going. I don't follow.

"What on earth is going on?" Effie asks as she stands, her lips pursed.

"We can't afford the medication," I reply simply. She looks surprised.

"But you've had very generous sponsors, Katniss, I don't understand."

"We _just don't have enough_, Effie," I say, my words sharp. She must realise, because she falls silent, and I can see the little lines appear that form between her eyebrows when she's disappointed and upset.

"Very well then, I won't press further. As for your tributes, since you left, Hadley has been attributed her first kill in the arena, and is now in the woods. It seems she is very close to Peeta. With any luck, they will find each other; she may be able to assist him with his wound."

"Ok. Ok, well that's good I guess." I look around the penthouse, noting how quiet it is, and how I'm now faced with the prospect of nothing to do. "I suppose I'll watch some of the games. Now that we can't send anything, I've got time to spare."

"That's fine," she nods. "You also have to remember to prepare for tonights' Mentor Gathering, though. It begins promptly at 6pm, and we mustn't be late. I'll leave you now, Katniss, and try and find wherever Haymitch has secreted himself." I'd completely forgotten about the Mentor Gathering set for tonight, and I can't say I'm looking forward to it. I know, at the very least after today, I'm going to be even less sociable than normal.

I sit and watch the games on my own, witnessing the moment when Hadley spots Peeta for the first time since they entered the arena. She looks like she's aged 10 years since this morning, and I know the weight of 4's death is heavy on her. It's just another reminder that children should never have to live with the burden of killing another human – even if in some cases, that burden may only last a few days. It's inhuman and degrading, and not for the first time do I find myself wondering if anything could be done to stop it.

But that's a war I can't wage, and for now, all I can do is focus on my tributes – and myself.

Hadley finally makes her way over to Peeta, and I watch as she crawls underneath the canopy he's created to camouflage himself from the tributes from 1 who are nearby. Although you can hear Peeta and Hadley's soft conversation through one of the microphones carefully placed around the arena, thanks to the handmade canopy, they can't be seen, and a slight smile crosses my face.

I bet that bugs the shit out of the gamemakers no end.

Peeta and Hadley remain quiet most of the time, to ensure 1 can't hear them, but if they're doing what I instructed them to do, they're watching, and observing, the other tributes. Every little gesture or tell could help if they ever came face to face.

The afternoon passes quickly, without fanfare or any occurrences, and it's soon time for us to leave for the Mentor Gathering. We stand as a group, Haymitch, Effie and I, waiting for the elevator to take Haymitch and I downstairs. We haven't uttered a word to each other since he stormed off earlier.

"Well, your evening should be fun!" Effie trills, obviously trying to break the tension between Haymitch and I. I don't think we've ever been this stiff with each other before. I'm not even sure what I've done. But as neither of us respond to Effie, she lapses into silence, pulling a compact out of her lime green purse, and touching up her heavily powdered nose. She's probably thankful she doesn't have to deal with either of us for a few hours.

The elevator ride is silent, as is the drive to the President's mansion, and it's not until we're about to walk in the door that Haymitch grasps my elbow.

"Look, sweetheart, I'm sorry," he mumbles. "Things really got to me this afternoon."

"It's fine," I shrug. "You just have to remember that we're on the same team here, and that I'm just as affected by it all as you are." He nods, his fingers tapping nervously against his thigh.

"I know. I think I was just frustrated more than anything that I didn't see that coming." He pauses, his eyes scanning over the other mentors as they make their way inside.

"You ok?" I ask. He seems especially wound up tonight. Maybe he hasn't had a drink in a while.

"You've gotta behave tonight," he mutters. I raise my eyebrow at him; he grins and I feel a little of the tension subside. "Sweetheart, you've got a face like thunder right now, even if you don't realise it. There ain't nothing on your face that says 'Talk to me, I'm pleasant'. Maybe you want to change that." Thank god, I'd rather him mock me than freeze me out at a time like this.

"Maybe I don't want to talk to people. Maybe they won't want to talk to me. I certainly wouldn't after finding out about the medication today." He glances around again at this, and drags me in through the wide mahogany doors, into the first little alcove he can find.

"Try not to anything tonight about that, you hear?" The urgency in his voice is evident. "Most of the mentors don't have any idea what's going on, and those who do are the ones who keep their ears _very _low to the ground. The less people know about the Capitol's displeasure with you, the better."

"But I thought lots of people knew?" I ask. "Isn't that how you found out?"

"Look, they do and they don't. It depends what social circles you're in. But even most who have heard don't understand the extent of it. Until things sort themselves out, we need to keep it that way. If people bring it up, fine. But don't give them a hint that you know the reason behind it." I nod, before we move out of the alcove and down the hall into the room the event is being held.

It's a smaller, more intimate gathering than the last one we attended. We're in a cozy, luxuriously furnished room, with burgundy velvet drapes and dark wooden furniture that looks older than Panem itself. The food is still plentiful, though, a large buffet spread in front of the windows that look over the Capitol skyline, with silent Avox's serving shimmering drinks on silver platters. The conversation is muted, the only people here being the gamemakers and the 10 Mentors for those tributes remaining. I don't recognise any of them, and assume that these mentors are from games from either before I was born, or not old enough to remember.

What stands out to me more than anything, though, is the distinct iciness in the room. The gamemakers, who would normally be chatting happily with the mentors, are huddled around the buffet. The mentors are clustered around the giant fireplace, and the looks on their faces are mutinous. Haymitch and I exchange a glance, and we both realise what's going on.

The mentors are not happy with the gamemakers, and the gamemakers know it.

I spot Crane and Heavensbee deep in conversation, while their cohorts shoot concerned looks over their shoulders. The mutters from the mentors are a little louder, and it's not hard to hear 'medication', 'utterly deplorable' and 'expensive' – along with 'excitement' and 'shake things up'.

I bet those last few are the bitch from One.

We make our way over to the mentors, and they instantly make way for us to stand with them. It's the most welcome I've felt since I arrived. Nothing like a little Capitol angst to bring us all together.

"Have you seen the change to the medications?" The male mentor from 8 blurts out immediately. I can see a hint of concern in his eyes.

"Of course they saw, Zeke. Do you think these guys aren't trying to send medications to their boy?" The female mentor from 1 huffs, rolling her eyes. There's no concern in hers. "I'm just thankful that my tributes are uninjured. It doesn't affect us at all." No surprises there.

"You're such a bitch, Pandora. It's a load of shit, that's what it is," Cade, the mentor from 3, snorts. Pandora rolls her eyes in response. Haymitch and I exchange another glance, and I know he's more than a little surprised that some of the mentors are being so verbal about the change in cost. So much for not speaking about this tonight.

I don't say anything, and let Haymitch speak on our behalf. I know he's trying to be careful, to not say anything that could result in additional payback, but I also know he's trying to reassure the mentors – particularly 3 and 8 it seems – that we agree with them. Although it's not hard, considering they all realise that Peeta is the most affected by the dramatic increase. What surprises me more than anything is that the gamemakers have made such a massive misstep, and just didn't seem to have a clue that amending the prices of the medications would have ramifications in some way. It seems like a snap decision that's coming back to bite them on the ass.

I continue to listen, and respond if need be, when I smell him.

Him.

Snow.

The overwhelming scent of blood and roses – both of which I instantly associate with death - surrounds me, and I reluctantly turn to see Snow as he enters the room. His eyes seek me out immediately, beady and cold.

Part of me knows I'm the only reason he's even here.

He makes his way over to the gamemakers, and converses with them for a few moments, as the mentors slowly drift away from each other and back into pairings. Haymitch, much to my despair, deserts me for the sideboard heaped with liquor, and the minute he does, Snow seizes his opportunity.

"Well, Miss Everdeen, your tributes seem to be faring rather well," he says immediately. No-one is near us. I wonder if they can feel the tension and hatred that seeps out of us as we stare at each other.

"They're alive," I reply simply.

"Indeed they are. That was an….interesting conversation Mr Mellark had last night," his lips quirk up at the corner, referencing Peeta's hallucination.

"I'd say his blood loss is affecting him."

"Ah, yes. And how are preparations for his medication coming along?" The minute the words are out his mouth, I know he knows that I am aware of exactly what the gamemakers have done, and why.

"Not well," I manage to reply through gritted teeth. He stares at me, almost lazily, and I can see his eyes twinkling as he begins to speak.

"Oh, now, Miss Everdeen, I really don't see the point I either of us beating around the bush. We'd simply be wasting time, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"

I agree wholeheartedly. "No, we wouldn't."

"So let me be honest," he says, and his voice drops, a low murmur that sends a shiver down my spine. "Nothing you do now will save that boy in the Arena. He is as good as dead. So is the little girl. You'll mourn, of course you will, for the boy you 'lost' before you ever really had him. And then you'll come back here to the Capitol, and do what we tell you to. There's nothing you can do to change this." I feel the anger welling, and I can't stop it – the words are off my tongue before I realise it.

"That's where you're wrong," I snap back. _Sorry Haymitch_. "I'm going to do everything I can for him, for Hadley, for me. We're more than just a piece in your games." He smirks, and I know he thinks I'm all talk, no action.

He has no idea.

"Ah, Miss Everdeen. If I didn't know any better, I would swear you were showing signs of rebellion." His eyes are hard and unflinching, and we simply stand there, staring the other down.

"Why?" I ask finally. "Why the medication? Why everyone?" The glint in his eyes return; he thinks he's won, that my concern is a weakness.

"The others are collateral damage, Miss Everdeen. That is all. Even the young man you supposedly have feelings for is nothing but a little thorn in my side."

"What do you mean, 'supposedly'?" I ask, the only words that seemed to get through to me. He laughs, a small mean sound that makes me think of the creaking of the elevator in the mines.

"Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. You didn't think I _believed _your little act the last time we spoke, do you?"

"Why not? Is it that hard to believe?"

"Oh, to be in love with the boy is plenty believable – if you were any other girl. But you – you can't act to save your life. Although if you could…maybe it would."

I can't understand this. For once, I may actually have feelings for someone, and I can't even make it believable.

"Well, you're wrong, President Snow. Whatever I feel for Peeta is real," I reply adamantly. He continues to smile.

"Yes, _whatever_ it is you feel. Perfect words, Miss Everdeen, perfect words." He doesn't let me reply, he simply walks away, as if the conversation is finished. I think about what I said, about how it could make him be satisfied enough to walk away. And that's when it hits me.

I needed to say that I loved Peeta. I needed to say that I need him, that I can't live without him.

I just didn't say enough.

* * *

But something else must resonate with Snow though, because early the next morning, a thick creamy white envelope is delivered to the penthouse, our names borne across the front.

_President Snow, in conjunction with the gamemakers of the 74__th__ Hunger Games, wish to advise of a banquet to be held in The Arena, this afternoon, at promptly 3.00pm. An announcement will be made shortly to all tributes, providing them sufficient time to arrive at the Cornucopia for the event._

_There is something each of your tributes desperately wants or needs, and they will find this by attending the banquet._

_May the odds be ever in your favor._

Haymitch looks up at me once we finish reading, eyes glowing with excitement and fire.

"We've got them running scared, sweetheart. After last night, they know the medication stunt was a bad, bad move. This is purely defensive on their part, to win back the confidence of the mentors. Most of the mentors _love _banquets. It's ridiculous how excited these things get them."

"But why would they even care what the mentors think in the first place?" I didn't think the gamemakers cared about anything except the ratings for the games.

"The last thing they want is a group of mentors bitching about them. News travels fast in the Capitol, particularly when people are pissed. They want to shut anything like that down before it gets out. And sweetheart, _you're_ a mentor. You think they're going to let a bunch of people have a bitch to someone they think is already against the Capitol?" I shake my head, frustrated.

"Then it's really about them, not us, or Peeta or Hadley or any of the tributes."

"No. But that doesn't matter, because this works in our favor. You know damn well that they're going to have to have Peeta's medication there for him. If they don't, every citizen in Panem will ask why, and Snow won't want to answer those kind of questions. Yeah, it's risky, because I know Snow is fully expecting Peeta to be attacked if he goes to the banquet. They're still betting on him dying. But all Peeta and Hadley have to do is work together to get to the Cornucopia, and play it smart to avoid any altercations. If they can get the medication, he's back in the game."

At Haymitch's words, the smile that crosses my face is the most genuine one in days.

_He's back in the game._

* * *

**A/N - Thanks for your patience for this next chapter, as well as your follows, favourites and reviews. They are always appreciated!**

**It was a little hard getting back into the swing of things after writing nothing but one-shots for PiP for two weeks, but I hope I've done this chapter justice.**


	14. Chapter 14

_Peeta POV_

"Peeta. Peeta, wake up. Peeta!" I can feel a hand shaking my shoulder, ragged nails biting into my flesh. If this is me, hallucinating about Katniss again, I'm going to have to tell her to cut her damn nails. I open my eyes slowly, wincing at the movement, and there's a small part of me that is disappointed that it's not an imagined Katniss in front of me. It's Hadley.

"Be quiet," I admonish her, raising a finger to my lips. "We don't want One to hear and find us." She huffs, and yanks on a long piece of hair that's come loose from her ponytail, rolling her eyes.

"They're gone. I watched them leave about 20 minutes ago. I'm not stupid." At her advice that they've gone, I sit up abruptly, and regret it immediately as the blood rushes from my head. I close my eyes, and wait for it to settle.

"Ok, sorry. I'm not saying you're stupid. I just didn't realise they were gone."

"Well, they are gone. At least now we can talk. I hated not being able to all night."

"Yeah, but it gave us some time to observe them, like Katniss told us to if we got the opportunity." I pull the vine canopy from over top of us, and breathe deeply, taking in the crisp morning air. From the slices of sky I can see through the treetops, it is a bright, almost sharp, blue, and I know, deep in my gut, that something is going down today.

"Well, I know that after watching them, my thoughts that Glory is a snobby bitch has been confirmed. And that Gage has a limp. He must have injured himself sometime in the arena."

"I don't think knowing someone is a bitch is going to help us in any way," I tell her wryly. She rolls her eyes.

"I know it means that if it came down to helping him or saving her own life, she'd do a runner," Hadley retorts, and I study her closely. Maybe she's right.

"Ok, I guess that's a fair point." I reach into my backpack, and pull out the bread that I've refrained from eating so far. If my instincts are right, I'm probably going to need the energy. Hadley's eyes widen hungrily.

"You still have food?" she asks reverently. "I scoffed mine like crazy."

"Did you feel sick after?"

"Yes."

"There you go. That's why I still have food," I glance at her again – her drawn, dirt and tear stained face, her matted hair, the clothes stained with blood – and look down at the bread in my hands.

"You want some?" I ask her. She shakes her head.

"No, it's ok. It's yours, you eat it."

"No, seriously, Hadley. Let me share it with you." I tear a chunk off and hold it out to her. She reaches for it hesitantly, and then grasps it tightly. "But eat it slowly this time. I get the feeling something is going to go down today, so I think we're going to need the energy." She eyes me curiously, nibbling at the bread.

"What makes you think that? That something is going to happen?"

"I'm not sure," I shrug. "I can just… feel it." We sit silently for a few moments, nibbling on the bread, while I contemplate asking her about her time in the arena. We hadn't really been able to talk very much while One was still around – despite the cover of the rushing sounds of the flowing river, we hadn't wanted to risk it too much. I decide to just go for it. "How's it been in here for you?" I say softly. Her shoulders hunch and she looks away.

"Nothing much had happened before yesterday. Hadn't really come across anyone. Found a backpack that had been left behind by someone else, and from the looks of it, I got the same parachute as you." _Almost, but not quite_. "But not much else."

"And you were just following One along the river yesterday?"

"Yes. Well, no. Well…." She trails off, and I can see the unmistakable gleam of tears in her eyes. She's quiet for a few moments. "You know….you know how we saw the picture of 4 last night, in the roll call?" I nod. "That was me. I did that." My mouth drops open a little.

"Are you ok?" I ask, although I've seen no evidence of an injury. She nods, and starts playing with the tufts of grass at her feet.

"We pretty much accidentally came across each other. She was shooting her mouth off, and had a go at Katniss, and it pissed me off. We started fighting, and she had a knife, and….." I let her pause, to compose herself. "She pushed me to the ground, rested her foot on my ribs. So I reached behind me, to my belt and pulled out my axe. And swung." She looks up at me, and I see tears tracking down her face. "I cut her foot off."

_Wait, what?! _I swallow deeply.

"You – cut her foot off."

"Yeah. I didn't mean to. I just wanted her to get off me. So I swung, and I cut it off, and she fell, while her foot stayed on my chest. It was gross. I brought up all that food, and just lay there, watching her die." Her gaze drops to the ground again, and her voice is quiet, and broken. "I'm a killer, Peeta. I'm not sure I can ever forgive myself."

I sit there, and for once, words escape me. I'm not sure anything I say will be able to comfort a 14 year old girl who is convinced she's a killer. I reach up and my fingers play with the pin so proudly displayed on my collar, while I try to think of what I can say – what I _should_ say – to try and soothe her. In the end, I just say what comes to mind. Capitol be damned.

"Hadley, you're not a killer. You didn't choose to come here. You didn't choose to leave your home, and your family, behind, and you most certainly didn't choose to kill Wylee. Someone else made those first two decisions for you, and the third you did to survive. Every person in this arena – every person who has _ever _been in this arena – didn't do it by choice."

"What about those who volunteer?" she snaps back. I sigh.

"Ok, yeah, in some districts they see it as something to strive for, a goal for them to reach, a 'career'. But they're in the minority. Katniss though? Hadley, the only reason _she _was in here was because her sister got reaped. The most unselfish thing anyone could ever do would be to give up their life for another. Katniss was prepared to do that. So she wasn't here by choice. She was here because Prim never had a chance." We both fall silent, and part of me is shaking on the inside.

I've practically committed treason against the Capitol with my words. All my careful planning, all my proclamations of love, could be out the window and for nought with these words. But I can't help it. I can't pretend that I'm happy about what they do, turning innocent children into empty shells of their former selves. I can't pretend that I don't feel an overpowering terror every time I think of Katniss, of what they will do to her if I don't win. I can't pretend that I don't hate Snow with every single fibre of my being.

I can only hope that they don't take anything out on her. This is my mess this time.

Our silence is abruptly interrupted by the music that normally precedes the death roll call, and Hadley and I try to look to the sky through the trees. There's nothing to see.

"_Attention tributes_," Claudius Templesmith's deep baritone rings out, and I feel knots in my stomach. Here it is. What I've been waiting for today. "_In honour of you successfully reaching the final 7, we have decided to host a little…banquet. There is something all of you either want, or need, and this is the place you will find it. Make your way to the Cornucopia for 3pm. There will be a counter in the sky to ensure you find your way there in time. We look forward to seeing you there, tributes. And may the odds be ever in your favour."_

We look at each other, and we know.

"That's gotta be medication for you, Peeta," Hadley says, looking down at my leg. I've tried to avoid looking at it so far this morning, but glancing down, the blood that has managed to seep through my makeshift bandage is a dried, rusty brown. She's right. Medication is probably going to be there. Along with 5 other tributes prepared to take my life.

"Are we going to go then?" I ask. She shrugs.

"Why not? What have we got to lose?"

I stop before I blurt out _our lives_.

Hadley helps me with my leg, cleaning and bandaging it as best she can. She'd kept her parachute as well, although when I ask her why, she just shrugs and mumbles that she didn't feel right leaving it behind. I don't question her any further.

We begin our trek to the Cornucopia. I'm a slow companion, even with my makeshift walking stick, but she doesn't seem to mind. She natters on about home, about the games she used to play with her friends in the meadow, and rather than it making me sad, it fills me with a sense of calm. If she can try and remember the good times, and not let her possible death overwhelm her, then maybe I should do the same. Because, really, getting out of here means I have so much to live for. I just hope _she_ understands that, watching me from the outside. As Hadley continues to chatter, for once I don't care about being quiet. The arena has been silent for too long.

"So what about you and Katniss?" Hadley suddenly pipes up, shaking me out of my reverie. She twirls her dark hair around her finger playfully.

"What about me and Katniss?"

"Well, you like her- does she like you back? Does she think you're cute?" I blush - I'm not sure I could ever imagine the word 'cute' coming out of Katniss' mouth - and rub the back of my neck nervously. Its one thing to express your feelings for someone on a national broadcast, but it's a different thing entirely to expand on that. Does the whole world need to know about our kiss, about her note, about our last conversation? Do they need to know how she makes me feel inside, the very thought of her twisting my stomach into knots with a mixture of nervousness and lust? That the last time I saw her I wanted nothing more than to hold her under me, her body clinging to mine, my lips pressed to the soft skin below her ear, her nails raking down my b-

"Peeta, are you even listening to me?!" Hadley huffs, and I cringe, embarrassed.

No, the whole world doesn't need to know any of that.

"Sorry. Ah, yeah, I guess so. For lack of a better word, I think Katniss thinks I'm _cute_."

"Did you kiss her before we left?" she asks shyly, and in that moment I remember that she's simply a 14 year old girl, still with a sweet and romantic heart.

"Um..." I trail off, and we smile at each other. She knows I don't need to say any more.

"After the interviews and you said you loved her, I told her I wish someone had loved me before I died. I still wish that. But I knew when I spoke to her that she felt the same way you do. I just don't think she knew it yet." Hadley's words give me a little thrill. But there's more to her words than just that, and I nudge her shoulder.

"You shouldn't think that way, Hadley. You could still make it out of here. You could still go home, and continue to do all the things you did before, and meet someone and fall in love-" She shakes her head, but it's not a resigned shake. It's one of determination.

"Peeta, the only way I'm going home is if you don't. So I don't want to talk about that anymore. I want to talk about you and Katniss."

"How is that any different? If I stand here and talk about Katniss, I'm just depressing myself if I don't get home." She shrugs.

"It's different, ok? I just want to talk about it. And talking about her should make you happy anyway." She forges ahead, whether I want to or not. "Why do you like her?"

I sigh, and awkwardly step over a large rock before I fall over it. I've got to remember that no matter how hard it might be, I have to talk about it. _Anything to help her_, I remind myself. Especially after my comments before. "Katniss…she's, well, she's special. She's kind and strong and compassionate. She's snarky and moody and temperamental. She's beautiful. She's kind of all I've ever wanted. All I ever will want." I hear a sniffle, and see Hadley wipe her nose with the back of her hand. Shit. I must sound like a sap. "But it all started with her voice. It was when we were kids, and she sang in front of our class, and it felt….like my heart stopped. It just went from there. And when she was reaped last year, I….it felt like my life was over."

"Do you think she loves you back?" Hadley asks, and my heart feels like it double-beats. I don't know how to answer this without repercussions in some way. I either say no and undermine the feelings I've said I have, or I say yes and Katniss will be sitting back in the Penthouse, cursing me for speaking on her behalf. I figure, throwing caution into the wind, that I have to answer as honestly as possible.

"I'm not sure. I think that Katniss has very ….strong feelings for me. Not everyone understands love, or they find it difficult to express it. Sometimes people show you through their actions, rather than their words. Katniss is one of those people. I think I shocked her with my announcement. But she didn't turn me away, or shut me out, and to me, that's more telling than anything else. If….If I get out of here, the first person I'm finding is Katniss, no doubt about it. And I hope that she'd be looking for me too."

"If you get out here, will you marry her?" I can feel my eyes widen, and I stop abruptly. I whip my head around to see her staring at me intently. _She cannot be serious._

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Shit, Hadley, I'm only 17."

"So? Age has nothing to do with it. Would you marry Katniss?" I stare at her, and a strange feeling settles over me, that maybe Hadley knows more than I realise. Why else would she ask me something so pointed?

"Maybe," I finally mutter. She smiles, and starts to sing.

"Peeta and Katniss sitting in a tree-"

"God, Hadley, shut up!" I groan, and all the seriousness has left our exchange. "Is this really the time or the place for that?" She punches me on the arm, very similar to what my brothers would do.

"I'm just playing, Peeta," she says softly. I try to glare at her, but I can't. Because who am I kidding?

Of course I'd marry Katniss. I'd marry her in a heartbeat.

We continue to trudge along in relative silence, stopping at regular intervals for me to regain my breath. I glance at the sky occasionally, watching the time – it's 1pm, plenty of time for us to arrive at the banquet, with really no need to hurry. The silence is only broken by the sound of the single boom of a cannon, and we look at each other, our faces a mixture of relief and regret. While someone else has died, it means that we're both that much closer to the end. We don't let it hinder our trek, though, and continue on to the showdown.

That's what I'm calling it in my head, but I haven't told Hadley that yet.

She seems pretty sure of where we are headed, and I follow her, letting her take the lead. My leg aches, and pulses every time I take a step. There's a numbness starting to grow from the centre of the wound, reaching towards my knee. It crosses my mind that the damage to my leg could be irreparable.

To take my mind off it, I let my thoughts wander, and I consider what kind of action Katniss is taking on the outside, whether she's standing up to Snow, whether she's out there trying to get sponsors. I hate the thought that she might bend to their will, struggle under the weight of the Capitols' threats and expectations. But I know, _really_ know, that she wouldn't. She's too strong for their games, I know she is.

I hope she's raised some hell for them, but not too much that they'd take it out on her. I'd rather them take it out on me any day.

Hadley suddenly reaches out a hand, gripping my elbow and raises the pointer finger on her other hand to her lips. I narrow my eyes at her in confusion, until she tips her head to the side. I follow the direction she's indicated, and there, just beyond the next line of trees, spread out in all its golden glory, is the Cornucopia. We're silent for a few moments, trying to judge whether anyone else is here. It's still early – only 2pm – and I figure we must have been the closest, and therefore first to arrive.

"Right," I whisper. "I think we aim for the Cornucopia, and hide in there. That way we can see when they're coming. But it also gives us first opportunity then when the banquet arrives." She nods, and we hesitantly make our way into the open. The minute we're past the line of trees, though, we try and go as fast as we can. Which, for me, is not fast at all. Hadley is there in a matter of a minute, while I struggle behind. But I've not felt any knives or spears whizz past my ears or embed in my back, so I think we're still alone.

We huddle just inside the entrance, behind one of the giant crates that, on the first day, had held the bounty the gamemakers had offered. We sit there silently, Hadley gripping onto her axe, her eyes glazed. I'm starting to worry if she's experiencing some kind of delayed shock from yesterday, but when I question her, she simply responds that she's fine, in a quiet, reserved voice.

I hold onto the studded club that I'd commandeered from 9, turning it over and over in my hands. No matter how many times I've tried to clean it, I can still see remnants of my skin, of my blood, stuck to it, a constant reminder of my predicament.

The leg aches like hell too, after that run out to here.

It feels like hours, and because we can no longer see the counter, I really have no idea how long it has been. But finally we see a group of parachutes, 6 in total, fall from the sky, brightly emblazoned with our district numbers, and land softly on the ground just in front of the Cornucopia. From that, it's pretty obvious who died earlier, and my heart aches a little for the sweet young girl from 8. I don't know who's responsible for her death, but I hope she put up a fight. For her to have gotten this far, I'm sure she stunned those in the Capitol who didn't expect much from a girl who only scored a 3 in training. I guess I'll never know how she managed it.

We study the lay of the land for a few moments, ready to pop up and grab our parachutes, when I see the two blonde heads from One appear at the edge of the woods, from a very similar position to where we exited. They must have only been roughly half an hour behind us, but came about the long way. I crouch back down – it's not the time to go out just yet.

They quickly glance around, although neither of them seem particularly worried about the possibility of other tributes being here. Glory strides across the open field, Gage two steps behind her, his limp more visible than what it was yesterday. The walking they would have done today obviously hasn't been any kinder to him than it has been to me. They're only about 50 meters away from the Cornucopia when I see the streaks of orange fly across the field, coming up behind them.

It's Three - Friels and Aida.

Their footsteps are thuds against the ground, and One are quick to respond, whirling to face the direction of the intrusive sound, drawing their weapons from their belts – knives, just like Three. I'm still not inclined to move just yet - I'd rather them duel it out just a little longer before we have to involve ourselves. I'm too injured and Hadley too malnourished to even consider being able to take on all four of them. I'm not oblivious to the fact that these tributes are likely to turn on the two of us as a combined force than take each other out over us.

Hadley and I watch as they throw themselves at each other, knives clashing, bodies bumping, throats growling. Gage arcs his knife through the air and slashes at Friels arm, blood spurting, it's trajectory causing splatters of blood to cover all four of them. A howl of pain escapes the lips of Glory as her arm is twisted and Aida jams an elbow directly into her nose, blood dripping down her face and onto her jacket. The two pairs gradually begin to shift away from each other as the fighting gets dirtier and more violent. Gage's lips are peeled back in mimicry of a smile as he repeatedly punches Friels in the head, their knives momentarily forgotten on the ground as they use their bodies to gain momentum and inflict pain on each other. They fall to the ground and grapple with each other, arms and legs flailing as both try to get the upper hand on the other. Fists fly, elbows lock, groins get kicked. Both of their faces are pulpy, bloody messes.

Hadley nudges me, and tips her head towards the two girls, where Glory has somehow managed to relieve Aida of her knife, and is advancing on her, a glint in her eye and a genuine smile on her face. Aida's eyes are wide open as she backs away, trying not to stumble over rocks, or her own feet, while keeping her gaze on Glory. My heart thuds and I know.

I'm about to see another tribute slaughtered.

I reach out and instinctively cover Hadley's eyes. She's already seen enough death. She doesn't need to see any more.

I watch as Glory strikes out, slicing the blade in her right arm across Aida's left, then mimicking the action with her other hand. Bright scarlet trails of blood run down Aida's arms and tears begin to streak down her cheeks. Gone is the vicious and callous girl I saw on day 2 as she blithely murdered another tribute.

People always have a sense of bravado until death is staring them in the face.

Glory pushes right up into her face and mutters something to her, their bodies as close as lovers. Aida begins to raise her arm, opens her mouth to speak -

And then it's done. Glory reaches her fisted hand up, thrusting the point of the blade she holds in it into Aida's heart, twisting in deep for good measure. Aida begins to fall forward, her body tumbling to the ground as Glory steps aside, almost comically brushing her hands together, and the cannon announces Aida's death.

Both Gage and Friels are momentarily stunned, and their faces twist to see Aida fall and Glory begin to walk towards them. Even from here I can see the smirk on her face. She's light of step, and I see the mirroring grin on Gage's face as he realises it's now two against one.

In that moment, I wonder if it's worth sneaking out, grabbing our parachutes and running for it, but they're still so close, and One is hungry for blood. I remove my hand from Hadley's eyes, who's been as still and quiet as a mouse, and her gaze is immediately drawn to the body of Aida. The hovercraft, normally so quick to respond, hasn't arrived yet. I guess the Capitol is expecting more than one pick up this afternoon.

Glory has just reached the male tributes, and I'm almost grateful that soon enough there will only be four of us, when I hear a buzz behind me. From _within_ the Cornucopia. It sounds like-

Suddenly the entire shell is emblazoned with lights, the shadows inside now vanished, and the mouth of the Cornucopia bright for all to see. The three tributes all snap around simultaneously, their eyes wide at the gleaming shell in front of them, the bright light emanating from it. Only then I realise it's not the shell, or the light, that has their eyes open wide.

It's us, our reflections shimmering back at us on every panel on the inside of the Cornucopia. Not even the crate can hide us now.

They know we're here.

* * *

**A/N - Thanks for all reviews, follows and favourites. They make my day! **

**Because I felt really productive this week, this story is now also cross-posted on A03.**


	15. Chapter 15

"You ok, sweetheart?" Haymitch's voice comes from nowhere, and I'm surprised I didn't hear him approach. I've been deep in thought, staring blankly out at the Capitol skyline, ever since we read the announcement regarding the banquet. Despite my initial positivity at the news, my heart knows that everything comes down to this moment. The banquet is likely to determine the victor of these games.

I turn my head to see him standing behind me. He looks as tired as I feel. "Yeah. Just….there's nothing to do. There's no point in trying to get sponsors. Peeta and Hadley are just walking to the Cornucopia, and I don't care about watching the other tributes. I guess…I just wanted some time to think." He nods, and shoves both of his hands in his pockets. It's odd to see him without a flask in hand for once, but I guess maybe even Haymitch sometimes draws the line at drinking before midday. More likely, though, it's just in his jacket pocket.

"You know we're nearing the end, right?" he asks, stopping beside me and leaning back against the ledge. He rarely looks out to the city when we're up here. I wonder if he does it consciously, that he refuses to look at the very place that destroyed everything good in his life.

"I figured that's what they're aiming for with the banquet," I surmise, and he nods his head in agreement. We fall silent, two people unsure what to say at the best of times. I feel an overwhelming urge to thank him, because despite the fact that we fight, bitch and butt heads more often than not, he's kept me sane this entire time. But I don't know how to, and I'm not sure he'd want to know anyway.

"You've done good," he finally mutters, and at first I wonder if I've heard him right. But the fact that he can't look me in the eye confirms I did. It's not something I particularly expected to hear from him.

"Did you just compliment me?" I ask.

"Don't push it, sweetheart," he grunts back. "But you have. You've handled all this shit far better than what I expected. I guess I've got the kid to thank for that."

"What do you mean?" I ask guardedly.

"I think if you didn't have the hope of getting him out alive, you'd be struggling a lot more. But you've had something to focus on. You need that. You need a goal, something to get you through. Blondie was your goal to get out last time – it's the kid getting you to the end of these games this year." I sigh.

"I may be handling it better than what you expected, but it's certainly not the best experience of my life, Haymitch. Peeta being reaped, his whole love admission-" I glare at him as I say this, but he simply grunts, "Plus, having to watch innocent kids die for the fun of it, put up with the people who live here…..and then the, well, the other stuff." He shakes his head.

"Look, you can't think about that 'other stuff', not right now. Put it out of your head. We had a win this morning, bringing things back onto our terms. And that wasn't just our doing, either. For once, the Capitol was stupid enough to piss off some of the other districts. You gotta think positive at this stage. The kid's gonna get there and get him some medication. And then we're bringing him home." I ignore the little niggle that plays at me every time I think of not bringing Hadley out, and focus on Peeta.

"And where do we go from there, then?" I ask.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if by a miracle we're able to bring Peeta out, what happens from there? The Capitol isn't suddenly going to leave me alone, are they? They're likely to be even more pissed with me for District 12 having a victor two years in a row. All we've been focusing on is getting him out. If we succeed, I'm not going to just sit around and wait. I need to know what I have to do."

"Do you really want me to answer that question?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Sweetheart, I've gotten to know you pretty well the last year or so. I'm not sure you'd like the answer. So I'm not gonna give it." I fold my arms, unhappy with his willingness to say anything more.

"So what, I'm just going to have to guess what I should do? How far I should push them?" He shakes his head and sighs like the weight of Panem is on his shoulders. Maybe it is.

"I'll tell you when you need to know. But until then, just concentrate on bringing the kid home, ok?" He clears his throat, and looks back towards the door. "We'd better go back down. You coming?" I nod, frustrated that he won't say anything more, and follow him back downstairs, just in time to see Effie tittering into her hand as she watches the images onscreen.

"What's going on, Trinket Buns?" Haymitch asks jovially, all seriousness from upstairs now wiped clean. This is obviously his favourite go-to nick name for Effie at the moment. I have to give it to her – she simply rolls her eyes, brushing him off.

"Peeta, if you must know, has just finished explaining to Hadley why he finds Katniss so special," she replies, sending me a smile. I blanch. God, I can only imagine what he said.

"What did have to say about Little Miss Sunshine over here?"

"Haymitch, you can watch it back on replay later. I'd like to continue watching this as is, _uninterrupted_," she states pointedly, reaching for the remote and turning the sound up to drown out Haymitch's chuckles.

"_If you get out of here, will you marry her?" _

I whirl and stare at the screen, struck dumb by Hadley's question. She _cannot_ be serious.

"_What?"_ Thank God. Peeta sounds as confused as I feel.

"_You heard me."_

"_Shit, Hadley, I'm only 17."_

"_So? Age has nothing to do with it. Would you marry Katniss?" _Hadley's face is so sincere, I know she's asking out of legitimate interest. She's right, though. It's not uncommon for people in our district to marry young, once the threat of being reaped has been removed from their future. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for his answer. It feels like a century before the word quietly tumbles out of his mouth.

"_Maybe." _

In that instant, my whole world feels like it stops, and my mind goes back to the last conversation we had, before he entered the arena.

"_I said I was interested. Loves a strong word, Peeta," I'd told him quietly. "I've always said that I'll never get married or have children. I guess it was easy to ignore whatever I felt, or not acknowledge it because of that. But after it was pointed out, I couldn't ignore it. It became pretty obvious why I accompanied Prim to the bakery. Or watched the wrestling competitions." I'd watched as a smile crept across his face, and I'd felt a funny flutter around my heart. I'd tried to explain to him what had happened after the last games, how nothing seemed to register with me anymore, how nothing could crack the impenetrable shell the Capitol had encased around me._

_None of it had mattered to him. He'd calmly and patiently listened, then simply outlined his intentions when – if – he came out of the arena._

"_I'll be ok, Katniss. If I come out, you'll be the first person I'll come looking for. Because I love you. And maybe, just maybe, I can convince you that you do love me back."_

My breath had caught in my throat at the thought of loving anyone other than Prim, and I remembered realising the biggest reason it terrified me so much was that I could realistically see it happening. How could someone not fall in love with Peeta Mellark? I still hadn't wanted to recognise it though, wasn't sure if ever wanted to. I was stubborn, set in my ways, and if the Capitol hadn't been able to defeat me, then neither would a blond-haired 17 year old boy.

_And then he'd kissed me._

Now, he was saying this. Saying that maybe one day – despite the words I'd emphatically said to him regarding my disinterest in marriage and family – he would marry me.

And despite those words I'd emphatically said to him regarding my disinterest in marriage and family, _his _words causes the realisation to hit me that every intention I've had in my life may have just been thrown out of the window. I don't simply have 'feelings' for Peeta Mellark. I don't think I ever have. Everything that has happened in the last two weeks has just cemented what I feel right now.

I think I love him. And the possibility of an 'us' doesn't seem so unappealing anymore.

In fact, it kind of feels right.

* * *

Haymitch and Effie, perceptively, had realised the conversation between Hadley and Peeta had hit home to me, and any comments they may have had lingering on the tip of their tongues quickly died away. I'm thankful that they've left me alone, that they're not trying to engage me in conversation while I watch our two tributes hide out in the Cornucopia, waiting for the Capitol's 'gifts' to arrive. I have no time for idle chit-chat – all of my focus is on Peeta, and Hadley.

I wait impatiently, and breathe a little sigh of relief when the parachutes fall from the sky. There are no other tributes around, and they could make a dash for it, but I know they're doing the right thing when they take a moment to take another look over the woods in front of them. I'm glad they do, when I see the two tributes from one casually walk into the open space of the meadow. It feels like their glances around are more out of habit than necessity. They look like they believe they don't have a thing to worry about.

But they're wrong.

The tributes from three suddenly burst out of the trees and are hot on their heels - I can feel the tension in the penthouse rise immediately. Effie and Haymitch, who had been standing by the buffet arguing, are suddenly on the couch beside me, all of our eyes glued to the screen.

All four of them have knives, and are not afraid to use them. They clash against each other, arms, legs, fists, even heads in the male from one's case. He's vicious, and doesn't seem to care what he uses to inflict pain on the male from three – as long as it gets the job done, he'll use it. His knife slices through the air and the arc of blood that spurts out of three's arm as a result is wide and long.

The screen splits in three, and we have intimate close ups of both fights simultaneously, along with Peeta and Hadley hiding behind the crate. The girls fight is catty, a combination of arm twisting, face punching and hair pulling. The guys fight is violent and gritty, and they've fallen to the ground as they both try to gain an advantage. If they didn't have vastly different coloured hair, I'm not sure I'd be able to tell who was who, their faces are that damaged and streaming with blood.

Suddenly, as if the gamemakers know something we don't, the female tributes fill the screen, in time to see one relieve three of her knife, and begin advancing on her. The brown haired girl starts to back away, and I know she's about to meet her end. In an instant, she looks so young, an innocent victim of the Capitol, and I have to fight the urge to close my eyes. The blonde strikes out; slicing at the girl and the blood that appears on her arms is bright, while the tears on her cheeks glisten in the late afternoon sun. But there's no mercy, no compassion from one, as she closes in on the trembling tribute in front of her.

"Your tears mean nothing to me," she hisses as their bodies brush up against each other. Three opens her mouth, but it's for nought - one thrusts the knife into her chest, burying and twisting it so deep I can hear the flesh and blood squelch as if it's happening right beside me. She casually steps aside as her opponent stumbles to the ground – as if it's nothing - and the cannon sounds.

The screen splits again, and we can see the other four tributes reactions. Peeta's eyes are wide, while his hand covers Hadley's so she cannot see. If my stomach wasn't churning from what I'd just witnessed, I'd almost think it was sweet. But right now all I can hear, over and over again in my head, is the sound of the knife twisting in the girl's body. The other male tributes pause in their fight as they look over to see who's gone, and the smirk that crosses one's face is terrifying. He knows that they've now got the advantage.

A buzz starts to sound through the speakers, and I assume it's just a hovercraft, come to collect the dead girl.

I'm wrong, though. Dead wrong.

The Cornucopia is suddenly emblazoned with lights, shining bright like a beacon. And I know immediately the impact of what's just happened. _The damned gamemakers have done it again_.

The other tributes know Peeta and Hadley are there.

"Shit," I hear Haymitch mutter. Effie doesn't admonish him like she usually would and surprisingly that, more than anything else, cuts me to the bone.

It almost feels like everything is in slow motion. Peeta and Hadley, their eyes wide in a mixture of shock and terror. The other tributes, whose expressions are a combination of surprise and bloodlust. Haymitch, who continues to curse and mutter under his breath. Effie, who's risen to her feet and is pacing back and forth frantically, her eyes never leaving the screen.

This is it.

The female quickly changes direction, heading towards the Cornucopia instead of towards her co-tribute and casually wipes the bloodied knife on her shirt. Hadley starts shifting her feet, sweat dripping down her face, and Peeta places a hand on her arm to calm her down.

"It's ok Hadley," he whispers. "We can do this." He pulls the studded club from the belt of his pants, where I know he'd placed it earlier, and grips it tightly in his hand. At least he looks determined, looks like he's ready to put up a fight. Hadley hasn't let go of her axe all afternoon.

My attention is diverted back to the two male tributes who are still staring at Peeta and Hadley in surprise. For two people locked in the bloodiest of battles, their apparent fixation on my tributes is a little unexpected.

Then, out of nowhere, one seems to wake up, and looks down at three, whose body is still pinned underneath his, whose throat is still enclosed in his hands – whose eyes are still drawn to my tributes. Before three can even realise it, one moves his hands, grips either side of his head tightly and twists.

I can hear the snap from here, and the cannon echoes in my ears.

The element of surprise takes the life of the final tribute from three.

"Oh my," Effie breathes.

I could think of worse things to say, but right now every single one of them escapes me.

"Are you ready Hadley?" I hear Peeta ask. She turns to him, her eyes glazed.

"I don't know," she whispers back.

"You have to be. Please. Just….be prepared to do whatever you need to. Don't let emotions get in the way of stopping them." He hasn't taken his eyes off the tributes from one, who are slowly advancing on the Cornucopia.

The only advantage I can see from here is the fact that if one chose to throw their knives at Peeta and Hadley, they'd effectively be losing their weapons, and I can't see them doing that.

"We're gonna have to move and get out of here. We can't afford to get stuck inside," he tells her, and I know if they're going to do that, they need to move now. She nods, and they quickly move around the edge of the crate, along the side of the Cornucopia shell. One start to speed up as soon as they see Peeta and Hadley moving out and into the meadow, but at least they've got a bit of a headstart. They begin sprinting towards the woods, away from the bodies of three. Although to say Peeta is sprinting is not really an accurate description of the agonizing stumble he seems to have fallen into. One is closer, getting closer and closer…..

Suddenly Peeta stops and whirls, swinging out with his club. I don't know how he did it, how he realised the male tribute was that close, but he was, and the club catches him on the elbow, ripping through flesh down to the bone. The howl of pain one releases sounds so much like the mutts that chased me last year that I clap my hands to my ears, to block the noise. My eyes are wide and staring, though, as he and Peeta face off, circling each other. The screen splits – male vs male, female vs female again – and I whimper as I see Hadley pinned to the ground, her legs thrashing frantically as she tries to get loose. One has a deep gash across her cheekbone - that I can only assume came from Hadley's axe - which pours blood down her cheek to mix with the blood from her nose. Her snarls are almost as awful as the howls from her co-tribute.

"I can't watch both, Haymitch," I finally mutter, and he rests a hand lightly on my shoulder.

"I'll watch the girl," he replies, understanding, and I nod gratefully. This moment is about Peeta for me.

I focus on him, as he and one continue to swipe at each other. They're both hindered now by injury, Peeta with his leg, one with his arm, which dangles limply at his side. The stark white of bone sticks out of the flesh, and despite the fact I know he would be in horrendous pain, I can't find the sympathy or emotion I felt for the girl from three not 15 minutes before.

"Shit, she lost her axe," I hear Haymitch groan, and I divert my attention back to Hadley to see the axe meters away from where she's rolling in the dirt with one. The only positive to this is that one's knife lies near it, and now they're both unarmed. But the more Peeta and his opposition circle each other, the closer he gets to it, and though I know it won't help and I know it won't work, I silently start chanting in my head for him to go for it, to reach for it.

I feel like there's no air in this room, and we've all stopped breathing.

Peeta's eyes dart to the ground, and I know the moment he sees it. His tactic changes and he begins to move in the other direction. One doesn't seem to care, simply continuing to growl and grunt and swipe out with his knife. By now I can see a couple of them have caught Peeta across the arm, across the chest, and faint trickles of blood weep from the wounds. But he makes a move to the right and feints back to the left to reach down and grasp the axe in his left hand, swinging out with it as he rolls his body back up. The axe catches the same injured elbow of one, this time clean slicing through the flesh, tendons and bone. His forearm drops to the ground, along with the knife from his other hand, and he falls to his knees, his face contorted in pain, in surprise – in anger. Even from his prone position, he glares up at Peeta, his eyes burning with rage.

"They won't let your pitiful district have a victor two years in a row. You won't defeat me," he spits. Peeta steps back, shaking his head.

"I don't care about you," he replies, his voice laced with pain. He leans over to pick the dropped knife up, slipping it into the long pocket down the side of his pants, and turns away towards Hadley. She's at the mercy of one again, pinned down with her arms locked, though her legs continue to kick. Except this time Peeta can see the hands around her throat, squeezing and pressing and tightening. He doesn't seem hesitate, doesn't seem pause, doesn't even seem to think about anything but the fact that Hadley is dying. He lopes over as quickly as he can, and in her rage and devotion to taking Hadley's life, one doesn't hear Peeta coming.

But she feels the axe he lodges deeply in her back, and her body contorts up, her eyes wide as she looks up at Peeta. Hadley, no longer weighted down, manages to shove one off her, gagging and coughing onto the ground.

The female from one lies there, her breathing shallow and quick. The blood drains from her face, pools underneath her prone body. She doesn't take her eyes off Peeta and Hadley.

None of us can move. We're frozen still.

"Just because-" One starts, gasping. And then she stops, her eyes no longer alive. They're blank. Staring. Dead.

There goes the cannon.

Peeta drags Hadley to her feet, glances quickly at the only other remaining tribute – who stares in shock at his dead partner – and heads towards the entrance to the Cornucopia. He reaches down to pick up their parachutes, slipping the cords over his shoulder, and then leads them back towards the woods in a measured and obviously painful jog. Hadley stumbles, continuing to cling to her throat, gasping for air. They're almost there, almost to the edge of the clearing, when Hadley falls to the ground.

The blood smeared axe lies embedded at the small of her back.

Peeta whirls, turning to see one standing beside the body of his co-tribute, blood dripping from his damaged arm, his eyes bright with revenge.

"You're not the only ones who can use an axe, you assholes!" he yells, his pained voice angry, bitter, and full of venom.

I watch as Peeta, despite his own injuries, reaches down and picks Hadley up in his arms, cradling her as best he can without touching the axe.

"Then come and get us!" Peeta yells back, and disappears into the trees.

* * *

I'm shaking, my whole body is shaking, as I watch Peeta and Hadley move into the woods. The vision stays locked on one, watching as he awkwardly begins to strip the jacket from his dead co- tribute with one hand, and wrap it around the bleeding stump of his other arm. The sound of a hovercraft is evident, and he scrambles up and away, glancing towards the woods towards where Peeta and Hadley disappeared - before he changes angles and heads for the rocky hills instead.

Haymitch reaches out and touches my arm, and I turn to face him and Effie, who has sat down again. I'm shocked to see the tears streaming down her face, streaking through her make-up.

"We need to go," he tells me gruffly.

"What?! Go where? Why? We need to watch this!"

"We need to watch this in public," he tells me forcefully. "We need to be out there in the main square with the people when the winner is announced. We should've been down there all along." I draw in a breath to yell at him, but pause when I look closer into his eyes. They're pleading with me, and I realise this isn't really his idea. It's something that the Capitol would demand, would expect. To have the mentors grieve or celebrate with its citizens.

"Ok. But we need to go fast. I can't miss anything. In case something…." I trail off, not wanting to say any more. Both Haymitch and Effie nod, and we move quickly to the elevator. Effie pulls her powder out of her purse, fixing her face as we go. I wring my hands, a nervous habit that I've only picked up in the last week. Haymitch curses as he reaches for a flask in his pocket that isn't there.

"Why didn't he kill him?" I whisper finally, more to myself than anyone else. Haymitch sighs.

"Because, sweetheart, he didn't want it to come down to himself and Hadley. And instinct told him to save Hadley first."

I know he's right.

* * *

**A/N - Thanks to everyone for reviews, follows and favourites. Each and every one is absolutely, 100% appreciated. :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**Peeta POV**

Moving through the woods, with Hadley cradled in my arms, isn't easy. The weight in my arms, the pressure on my leg, the stings from the slices from Gage's knife, slows my progress, and the further we go, the weaker I feel.

I haven't heard Gage since we left the meadow, and there's no way he'd be able to move stealthily through the woods, not with his injuries. He'd be making as much noise as we are, and considering the stillness of the arena, he wouldn't be hard to hear.

Moving around fallen branches and avoiding any trail that has an incline, I keep moving, wanting to get as far away from the Cornucopia as possible. I have no idea how long I've been walking for, all I know is the sun is dipping lower in the sky, and Hadley's breathing is coming shallower and lighter.

I can't do this anymore.

I pause by a small group of bushes that we could hide in if need be, and carefully begin to kneel, placing Hadley on her side on the ground. My shirt and pants are covered in the blood that continues to seep steadily out of her wound, and I know she's lost a lot - probably too much. I leave the axe in her back, as I'm far too hesitant to pull it out. It's lodged in deep, and I'm worried anything I do could make things worse for her. The fact that she's still alive amazes me, considering I'd used the same weapon to take the life of Glory.

I scoot around, so I'm facing Hadley, watching the breaths struggling to fight through her trembling lips, watching her eyes flutter open, then close again. I reach out and gently push a loose lock of hair behind her ear, and her skin is cool to the touch.

Hadley's dying, and I don't know what to do.

I shift back a little, stretching my leg out so the pain throbbing like a heartbeat in it can ease, and the parachutes I'd let fall to the ground catch my eye. I know mine is supposed to be medication, but as for Hadley's…..

Reaching out, and trying to keep my leg still as possible, I grasp the cords in my hand, dragging them over to me. I put mine to the side, and crack open Hadley's, desperately hoping for anything that might help her. Peering inside, I hold my breath…

Great.

A canteen of water and a hairbrush.

I can't help the way my jaw clenches angrily. A young girl, who's been in the arena, fought for her life and is now dying, is basically being told by the Capitol to brush her damned hair. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Katniss and Haymitch had nothing to do with this.

If I didn't already hate the Capitol with every fibre of my being, I would now.

Throwing the brush into the bushes, I reach for my own parachute, and crack the small box open. Part of me almost expects it to be empty, just to spite me. But if I learned anything from Haymitch, the gamemakers will play to the audience, and there's no way they'd chance putting the citizens offside with pulling that kind of stunt.

Peering inside, there is indeed a small vial, and I grasp it between my fingers. It looks like one of the needles my prep team injected me with before I entered the arena, filled with a clear liquid. It has to be my medication.

I look from it, then to Hadley, then back to my leg. And the decision I have to make now is possibly one of the biggest in my life.

If I take it, Hadley is sure to die. If I give it to Hadley….well, it only leaves us in the same predicament we are now. Either way, one of us is guaranteed to die, whether it be from our current injuries, or Gage hunting us down.

Before I can think anymore, though, Hadley lets out a small groan, and I crouch in as close to her as I can. Her eyes, clouded and hazy, latch onto mine.

"It's the axe, isn't it? It hurts, Peeta," she whimpers, a tear sliding down her cheek. I nod slowly.

"I know it hurts, Hadley, I know. But I don't want to pull the axe out, it might make it worse." She nods slightly, and I notice her fingers trembling, her hands pulled tight into her body. I reach out and grasp them in mine, brushing them gently, the only thing I can think of to do right now to give her some kind of comfort.

"Peeta?" She says softly, and I lean in closer to hear her better. "I….I can't feel my legs." I turn to look at her legs, limp along the ground. I tentatively reach out towards her knee, and poke it gently.

No response, no reaction.

I poke a little harder, then grab a stick from beside me, poking at the flesh of her calf.

Still nothing. Shit.

The axe must have severed her spinal cord and I think she's paralysed. My heart drops as I realise whatever medication is in that vial is not going to be able to do anything for her.

I drop the stick, and encase her hands with mine again. Her eyes, which had closed, flutter open.

"It doesn't look good for me, does it?" she breathes, and I'm not going to lie to her. Not now.

"No, it doesn't." She nods slightly, and tries to breathe a little deeper, but it rattles in her throat. I hate seeing her like this.

"I'd prefer it this way," she says. My brow furrows in confusion.

"What do you mean? This way means you're _dying_, Hadley."

"I know." It's not just pain in her voice now. It's knowledge. It's acceptance. "It's better for you to get out of here, Peeta," she whispers, and I can see how much she's struggling to keep her eyes open.

"Why? You're young, you've got your whole life ahead of you! You-"

"I know," she interrupts, gasping a little. "About her. About you." She looks me straight in the eye, as if she's trying to tell me more than she's saying. I lean in closer, almost resting my head atop hers, my ear close to her mouth. Whatever she needs to say right now, Panem doesn't need to hear. "I know about the Capitol's plans… for Katniss. I know how important… it is for you to get out." She coughs lightly, and it gives me a moment to steady myself, my heart pounding rapidly with the knowledge she's just given me.

_She knows. She's known all along_.

"How?" I whisper as quietly as I can. She's quiet for a moment.

"I was on the roof… the night Haymitch told you. I didn't….want to…say anything. Didn't want…it to change…anything." Her voice is getting softer, more distant, despite the fact my ear is all but pressed against her mouth. "I don't…want to…live if that's…what could be waiting for….me as… victor." I don't know what to say, because I can't fault her logic. If I was her, and I'd known that would be my life, I'm not sure I'd want to win either. As it stands, the only thing I have going for me is Katniss, and vice versa.

"I…I don't feel right about this," I mutter to her, and I feel a faint sigh cross her lips and blow across my ear.

"Shut…up. This…is how…it was always…supposed to…be." She pauses again, and I can almost feel the pain her body is in. I'm beyond amazed that she's not crying and writhing in pain. But she's not. And in that way, the Capitol hasn't won. They haven't defeated her. "Don't…screw this…up. Make the…most of…it." She breathes out deeply, and I sit back, carefully looking at her, her eyes closed, her face a mask of calm. If it wasn't for the fact that I knew an axe was in her back, I'd swear she was simply lying here, ready to go to sleep.

I guess she kind of is.

I reach out again, smoothing her hair back from her forehead, willing the tears that are starting to form behind my eyes to hold back, to wait. I don't want her to see me cry.

Her lips form a small smile, and her eyes flutter open again. "Win this, Peeta. You…can do it. You can…do all…of it. Beat them. Go home….to Katniss. Promise me."

_Oh god._

"Ok. I promise, Hadley. I promise you I'll win." Her smile grows a little wider, but it's her eyes that scare me. They're fading, distant. They're leaving us.

"Good. Thank…you. For…everything." We lock eyes one more time, and a single tear slips down her cheek. She nods slightly, then closes her eyes. Her breath shudders once more, in, out….

I hear the cannon, but I don't want to recognise it, don't want to acknowledge it. I move her hands to rest beside her face, palm to palm with the other, as if she's just sleeping. I take one last look at her face – now quiet, still, and remarkably serene – grab my parachute, and drag myself backwards and out of the way, not even bothering to stand up. I refuse to leave. I won't leave her alone in here. Not now.

I wait, and wait, and while it feels like hours, it's only minutes that pass before the hovercraft arrives, carrying her away.

It's the last time I will ever see Hadley, and I know I'll never be the same.

But I made a promise, and I'm going to keep it. I'm going to defeat Gage, and then I'm going home to Katniss.

Hadley's death will not be in vain.

* * *

I sit, staring off in the direction the hovercraft left in. I can't seem to find the energy to move, my limbs heavy and achy and tired, my brain desperate to shut off, to not think anymore.

To take away the image of Hadley's eyes closing for the last time.

I look down to find the needle still lying on top of the parachute where I'd left it earlier, and grasp it in my fingers. There's nothing stopping me from using it now, and I pop the cap off, take a deep breath, and plunge it into my thigh, close to my wound. My body jerks in response to the sharp point of pain, and I let my breath out slowly, closing my eyes as I do so. I guess now there's nothing to do but wait, to see what it does, and hopefully sleep a little once the sun goes down.

It soon becomes apparent, though, that night is not coming. The angle of the sun has stalled, and the arena has been bathed in the soft orange glow of the sunset for at least the last hour. I chuckle to myself. The gamemakers - somehow – even know my favourite colour. Why the hell not? Let me die while the arena around me mocks my final moments.

I realise the pain in my leg has lessened, and looking down, I can see the wound doesn't look as nasty, the skin surrounding it shiny and pink, the pus and blood that has continued to slowly seep out since it first occurred all but disappearing. I survey the other slices and cuts I received from fighting with Gage, and am surprised to see they're gone. Almost like they were never there in the first place.

Score one for the Capitol, I guess.

I pull myself to my feet, to test my leg. While I still can't rest my full weight on it, it's not as sensitive, and the pain lessened. I tentatively walk a few paces, and am surprised to find my gait to be the steadiest it's been since I was first injured.

I look around for my backpack, and realise it's long gone, back at the Cornucopia. Not that I really need anything in it. I fully expect this all to be over soon enough anyway.

I lean against a tree, drinking some of the water sent for Hadley, and let my thoughts wander. I'm still trying to comprehend the fact that Hadley kept from us all for so long that she knew about the Capitol's plans for Katniss. She must have been fully aware that my winning the games was the best chance to derail those plans. She came into the arena, already resigned to the fact that she was either going to die, or an undesirable fate waited for Katniss, and probably herself. She….

The realisation hits me like a lead weight. _That's_ why she was asking me those questions about Katniss, about why I liked her, if I'd marry her. It wasn't just for herself, her own curiosity. It was to remind every person in the Capitol of my feelings for Katniss. I can only assume that Hadley's words would have had an impact on those back in the Capitol, even those in the Districts. If anything, she's helped our plight ten-fold.

I'm this close to winning, to being able to go back to 12, to go back to Katniss. To set in motion what I can only hope are the preventative measures to…well, save her. And save myself in the process.

It feels like forever since I saw her last, but it's only been a week. At least I think it's a week. Time is irrelevant in the arena, and the days here don't feel like real days. Some feel short, as if they're simply a matter of hours, others feel so long you think they'll last forever.

Like today. The day drags, hours pass, but time seems to stand still. Today feels like it will never, ever end.

My thoughts are broken as I feel a shudder underneath my feet. It rumbles, like thunder in the distance, but it's closer than that, and the sky is clear of cloud. The ground around me begins to roll and shift and I stumble to the side, bracing myself against the tree. Then it all starts to break apart around me, crumbling to pieces, fissures appearing in the dirt, with cracks as long as my arm.

Shit. I've gotta run, and it's the last thing I need with a still healing leg.

I go in the only direction that seems to be steady, and unaffected, knowing deep down that this is the gamemakers intentions – to get me moving towards a certain place. Wherever Gage is, I assume.

I run as quickly as I can, which is at least faster than when I was trying to run away from the Cornucopia. I can both feel and hear the ground breaking away behind me, and my heart pounds in my chest, my blood thrums in my ears as I try to outrun whatever is happening around me. I've heard of sinkholes appearing in the Seam back home, but I don't think they're anything like this. This is….like the arena is turning in on itself.

Like a man-made earthquake.

I break through the tree line, and find myself in the rocky hills that I know Hadley spent so much time in. I pause quickly, looking around me, studying the terrain – there's nothing but grey and brown in sight, not a speck of green to break up the monotony. Boulders the same height as me dot the landscape, resting in the shallow valleys that separate each small rocky rise from the other. But I don't stop for long – I see the cracks in the earth begin to appear beneath my feet, and I need to keep moving.

I feel like I run for hours, the fissures in the ground directing my path. I stumble occasionally, and at one stage my foot slips into a crack in the ground, my ankle lodged. My brain wants to panic, but I'm able to calm down, pull my body up and continue on.

I'd rather duel it out with Gage than end things by falling into the depths of the earth.

Running become more difficult across this terrain, but I don't stop until the rumbling finally begins to cease, and the ground seems to steady beneath my feet. It's obvious I've gotten to where the gamemakers want me to be.

I turn in a half circle to survey the damage behind me. There's no evidence of the woods that have been there since day one. There's no evidence _anywhere _of anything. Even off into the distance, where I know the Cornucopia would have stood, it is barren, empty. There is nothing, except these hills, rocky and grey and brown and uninviting.

It's a depressing place to kill or be killed.

I pause and lean against one of the boulders, my body aching and tired. My leg, which had felt infinitely better after the medication, is starting to throb again. I pause to look down at it, to make sure it's ok, when I notice the cuts on my arm. Confused, I pull up my shirt, to discover that the slices Gage had inflicted on me earlier have returned, the scarlet lines stark against my pale flesh. In horror, I reach down to the rip in my pants to check my wound, and it's confirmed. The skin is red, and irritated, and the pus and blood that had stopped pooling from it have reappeared.

Whatever the Capitol gave me was just a short term fix. It was never meant to last. _I _was never meant to last.

The gamemakers probably expected Gage to finish me off earlier than this, if I'd managed to escape the banquet. They probably assumed we'd already be locked in a fight by now, where my returning injuries would weaken me. But we're both likely too battle weary to have moved fast enough to where they wanted us to be - or the gamemakers have underestimated how quickly the medication would wear off.

Now they've just pissed me off even more.

I take a slug from Hadley's water bottle, begin to shift around the boulder – and find myself face to face with Gage.

We take a moment to study each other. His eyes still hold all the anger and viciousness I saw in them as Hadley and I escaped into the woods. His face is streaked with sweat, and dirt, and smears of blood. He rests his weight on his right leg, and I remember Hadley mentioning she thought he'd injured it. His arm, cradled against his chest, continues to bleed, despite the makeshift bandage he seems to have created.

I try to ignore the fact that most of the arm is missing.

"Just you and me, huh 12?" he smirks.

"Just you and me," I confirm. I don't bother to smirk, or roll my eyes or glower. This isn't personal, it's not against him. Anything I feel is against the Capitol, and doesn't need to be extended to Gage. All I need to do is outlast him.

We both take a step forward, bracing ourselves for the inevitable. The silence of the arena is eerie after the rumbling from before, and we both seem disorientated from it. The anticipation causes sweat to drip down my back, trailing down my spine. Finally, disregarding any and all concern for our bodies, we throw ourselves towards each other, tumbling to the hard surface of rocks. A pained grunt escapes his lips, and I feel the sharp point of a rock pierce the skin of my forearm. We roll across the uneven ground, the rocks beneath us causing more pain than anything either of us can inflict on each other. My arms are now covered in trails of blood that weep from new slices and cuts. Gage's face is smeared with fresh blood, a deep gash over his right eye dripping steadily. The injuries we already have do nothing but make it worse for both of us. We roll and crash over rocks, slam into one of the boulders, until I finally pin him to the ground, as securely as I can. The fact that I have two hands definitely plays in my favour in this situation. He bucks and twists, trying to push me off him, but I manage to hold fast.

"Didn't think the girl would make it," he snarls, practically spitting out the words. His eyes are blazing, full of fire.

"No, really?" I reply, matching his gaze. I can't help the edge of sarcasm that laces my words. "It isn't like you threw an axe at her back or anything."

"It's not anything worse than you did to Glory." He begins to buck again, but I dig the knee of my good leg into his ribs.

"I was saving Hadley's life. It was nothing like what you did."

"Well, it was for nothing in the end, wasn't it? She's still dead." The smile that crosses his face is cruel, and ugly. I shake my head defiantly.

"It was absolutely worth it. But you wouldn't understand that, and I'm not going to bother to explain it to you." We glare at each other, tension beginning to mount between us. In that moment I feel the slippery grip I have on his arm loosen, and he swings his arm around, connecting directly with my wound. The pain lances through my leg, up my torso, and it causes me to lose my balance, giving him the freedom to wriggle free and drag himself to his feet to stand over me. I'm sprawled on my back, staring up at him, trying to contain the moans of pain that I want to release.

He glowers at me, and I can see the knowledge of victory light his eyes.

I want to close my eyes, but the little bit of pride I have left won't allow me to, and I continue to stare back at him. My hands unconsciously grip my thighs, my brain screaming at him to just get it over with, to hurry up and do it. He begins to reach into the pocket of his pants, where I assume he's kept the knife he surely would have retrieved from Glory. _The knife. _

At that thought, everything suddenly feels like it's moving in slow motion, every shift, nudge or movement measured and precise. My heart races as I remember his knife that I took after our fight. It's in the pocket closest to him, and my leg rests close to his foot. Hadley's words come unbidden again.

_Gage has a limp. He must have injured himself sometime in the arena_

I don't second guess myself, and I still have no desire to gloat or shoot him the withering glances he seems so intent on sending me. I act purely on instinct.

My hand snakes down into my pocket, and in one swift move, I stab it into his left knee. He doesn't make a noise, doesn't make a sound. He simply looks confused. And then severely pissed off, as I yank the knife back out, causing him to stumble backwards and blood begins to trickle out of the wound. I pull myself to my feet, my body braced, watching, waiting for any sense of attack. His lip curls back in a snarl, and he tightens his grip on the knife he's finally pulled out of his pocket. He takes one half step, then another, favouring his leg, but I take a step back for each one he takes forward. Then he leaps.

Our bodies collide into each other, and the point of a knife pierces flesh, slips through skin and blood. Mirroring flashes of pain cross both of our faces as we look down. His knife has sliced through my side, and I don't know what else it's pierced, but it must be something, because the pain I feel is nothing like I've ever felt before. Then I realise my knife has caught him as well, as he stumbles back in disbelief. It's embedded in his chest, it's black handle protruding at an awkward angle.

We both fall to our knees simultaneously, our eyes locked. At first he looks surprised, then defeated, as he glances back down to the knife in his chest. I open my mouth to speak, but I fall forward onto my stomach, and stare blindly at the rocks in front of me. I can't move, I can't speak, I can no longer feel. And I vaguely wonder if this is what it's like to be dead.

I close my eyes.

* * *

**A/N - Thanks for all follows, favourites and reviews :) **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N - Apologies on the delay here. Real life, and an Everlark Fic Exchange popped up. Thank you for your patience.**

**This chapter was written to _I Will Wait_, by Mumford and Sons. On repeat.**

* * *

**Katniss POV**

_Their bodies collide into each other, and the point of a knife pierces flesh, slips through skin and blood. Mirroring flashes of pain cross their faces as they look down. Both knives have embedded themselves into their torsos, trails of scarlet making their way across their skin, through their clothes, dripping into the rocky ground below._

_They both fall to their knees simultaneously, their eyes locked. I watch as Peeta opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, he falls forward onto his stomach, staring blindly at the rocks in front of him. He closes his eyes._

Silence.

The entire forecourt in the centre of the Capitol is silent. No one moves a muscle, takes a breath, as we all stare at the screen.

My heart beats out of control and my head feels heavy as I wait for the boom of a cannon. I didn't expect it to come to this. I thought it would be obvious, a moment of clarity as relief lit the eyes of the victor. Instead, we wait, anxious and aching, for the end to come.

I feel Haymitch's hand rest lightly on my shoulder, and despite my instinctive urge to shrug it off, I let it stay. Effie is on the other side of him, her face pressed into his shoulder blade, as if she can't bear to watch. Even through my own haze, I'm a little surprised at her obvious and public show of emotion. Prim and proper Effie has disappeared, and in her place is someone normal. Someone real. Someone who cares.

A cannon finally, _finally_ sounds, and I close my eyes. I wait for the next one, terrified they'll both die, and not knowing what the consequences to that are, but it never comes. The Capitol has their victor.

I can't watch the screen and I can barely stand to hear what words Claudius Templesmith will utter over the speakers that will abound throughout the arena, around the Capitol, over the broadcasts showing in every district in Panem. Blindly I reach up to my shoulder, gripping Haymitch's hand. He's the only one who has any idea how I'm feeling right now, any idea how fast my pulse is thrumming under my skin, or how my entire body feels like it's shaking from the inside out. The speakers finally crackle and hum, and a throat clears itself softly.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Claudius' voice booms out, loud and clear as a bell, as though he is right beside me. Everything we've done since the minute Effie uttered Peeta's name on Reaping Day comes down to this. "May we present to you the victor of the 74th Annual Hunger Games - Peeta Mellark!"

My eyes fly open as Effie suddenly flings herself into me, enveloping me in a sea of colour and fabric. I pat her arm gently, still a little wary of her overabundance of emotions, but looking up, I see the most genuine smile I've ever seen gracing her face. In that moment, I can see through the makeup. She's beautiful. And she's happy.

I never realised before now how sad she was.

Haymitch's grip on my shoulder tightens, and I turn from Effie's arms. "We did it, sweetheart," he says softly, his voice gruff and thick. And as he says this, it hits me that he's right.

We did it. Peeta is coming home.

I look up to the giant screen, ignoring the cheers abounding around me, the confetti raining from the sky. All I can see is Peeta's still prone body, the slight shifting of his torso as he breathes lightly. I've never been happier to see a hovercraft in my life as I do now, and I watch as the claw drops from the sky, gently cradling Peeta, and drawing him into the belly of the ship.

I shift my gaze to Haymitch, who seems just as focused on the screen as me. I tighten my grip on his hand, and his eyes lock with mine.

"What do we do now?" I ask.

"Well, we-" He cuts himself off and glances behind me, his eyes narrowing. He grabs my elbow before I can turn to see what he can, gently nudges Effie, and begins to lead us in the direction of the training centre. It's a slow process, as every person we pass wants to speak to us, wants to express their congratulations. I can feel frustration and annoyance growing, overwhelming the relief that had filled me the minute Peeta's name had been announced. My glares and mutters do nothing to halt his progress and finally I yank my arm away from him, placing my hands on my hips.

"Where are we going? What are we doing?" I demand, not caring that people are staring at me, that they're pausing in their celebrations to whisper about me. He rolls his eyes, and grabs my elbow again, although it's more of a drag than a lead this time. I plant my feet, trying to stop our momentum, not worrying that I'm banging into people as we pass, but he just keeps tugging and tugging until we're eventually inside the lobby and travelling back up the elevator.

"Haymitch, what the hell are we doing?" I'm angry now, and I just damn well wish he'd tell me rather than treating me like a child.

"What we have to do," he replies vaguely.

"Which is what?" I mutter through clenched teeth.

"Wait." I roll my eyes, but I know he's not going to give me anything more. Not right now.

The rest of the ride is silent, and any feelings of relief and euphoria have all but disappeared. Whatever Haymitch is holding onto has a sense of gravity that we're all aware of, whether he says it aloud or not.

It's frustrating. I want to be happy. I want to run out into the crowd and yell and scream that we did it. That we won. That we beat the Capitol. That I'm pretty sure I love Peeta Mellark.

But I can't. And I won't.

That's not the kind of person I am, and even if I was, now would not be the time to blatantly flaunt it in front of the Capitol.

The elevator doors slide open, and Haymitch immediately guides us towards the stairs that lead to the roof. Effie stumbles a little in her shoes on our way up, and I instinctively reach out and grab her hand to steady her. She squeezes my hand in what I assume is a show of comfort, before she quickly pulls it away. In the last twenty minutes, the Effie in front of me has become someone I don't recognise.

Haymitch pushes through the door at the top of the stairs, the brisk early morning air slapping at my cheeks. It's a little disorientating, knowing I watched Peeta only 20 minutes ago in an arena bathed with the glow of a late afternoon, only to be reminded of the falsity of it all when it's obvious it's really morning in Panem.

I move over to the ledge, looking down to where the citizens continue to dance and cheer over their latest victor. They've stayed up all night watching this, and none of them seem to be experiencing the overwhelming fatigue that is dragging at me. I wonder if they reacted like this to me last year, or whether the fact that Peeta is so damn likeable adds to their excitement. I feel Haymitch at my side.

"Was it like this for me?" I ask, unable to stop myself. He nods.

"They go apeshit every year, sweetheart, regardless of who wins. It's the same cycle. But the kid's interview will garner a lot of interest, a lot more than any I've seen in a while, I think."

"And that's what we have to talk about," I state. I know without a doubt it's what's bothering him, what's causing Effie to hover protectively beside us. He nods again, almost imperceptibly this time.

"We still have to play it carefully. Snow had men everywhere down there, watching us-"

"What the hell for?" I interrupt.

He raises an eyebrow. "Why do you think? But what we need to discuss, it couldn't be around them. The training centre is the one place I know we have access to where entry is restricted. Right now, we need that privacy, to talk about our plan for the next few days," he says bluntly, all business. "We'll be expected to go and visit Peeta in recovery, then depending on the level of his injuries, I'd say the victor ceremony will be in about two days. He'll have his final interview the following day, then we get released back to 12. This should be pretty familiar to you, sweetheart." I nod, but allow him to continue. This is his show for now. "You're going to have to pull off the performance of a lifetime during the next few days. I hope you're prepared."

I shrug. "What kind of performance do you mean? I did this all last year, I know what I'm doing. Everyone's going to be focused on Peeta, anyway."

Haymitch snorts. "You're kidding yourself. You're going to be pulled into this three ring circus just as much as you were last year. You're going to have to play the doting potential girlfriend to the hilt." I narrow my eyes at him, surprised at the depth of annoyance I feel at his implication.

"I'm won't have to act very hard. You know I have feelings for him. Snow already questioned me on this - I don't need it from you. Don't make this out to be something I won't be able to handle."

He shrugs his shoulders. "I know. I guess I just need to make sure you're completely aware of how important this is. Other than the few meetings with the gamemakers and the sponsors, you've managed to avoid the general Capitol population. They expect a show, so you're going to have to give it to them."

"We'll be fine. All that matters now is making sure Snow doesn't get his hands on Peeta. Or me." There's silence as Effie and Haymitch look at each other warily. It's the oddest thing, watching them communicate silently, until Effie finally gives him an encouraging nod.

"Yeah, about that, sweetheart…" he starts, then trails off, staring down at the ground. "We need to…talk about that a little more."

I look at him, confused. "About what?"

"Uh….."

"What Haymitch is trying to say, Katniss, is that it's a good thing that you feel something for Peeta," Effie interjects, shooting Haymitch a look full of frustration. "Because you're going to have to make things a little more, well, let's just say _official_."

"What?" My mouth drops open.

Haymitch stuffs his hands in his pockets, and sighs. "What we mean, sweetheart, is that the Capitol is going to continue to be pissed with you. Going to continue to try and pull you into their web. That's not going to change, just because both you and the boy have given yourselves a reprieve with this love story stuff. So unless you spend the rest of your life together, you're going to leave yourself open to them. They don't forget easily, or quickly."

My mouth drops open. "But-but I thought you said this was what we could do to stop them. Why isn't it enough?"

"It was the first step. It just doesn't end there. That's why I didn't want to raise this until now. I know how you feel about that kind of stuff. We-" I raise a hand, stopping his words. As much as my head doesn't want to comprehend what they're saying, I can't avoid it. They don't need to say anything more. It's clear as day.

At 17, my life is being served to me on a silver platter. In the form of a wedding dress.

"We're going to have to get married," I whisper, and I know the colour has drained from my face. It doesn't matter that I have feelings for Peeta, that I think I love him. That, following his conversation with Hadley, it doesn't sound as much of an awful thing I once thought it might be. It doesn't matter that I've done all I possibly can to bring him home to us, to me.

All I know now is that my entire life is no longer my own choice. Someone else is dictating the terms. And neither Peeta nor I have a say in it.

"Pretty much," Haymitch nods, and I can see the sympathy in both his and Effie's eyes. Not sympathy that it's Peeta – really, how could anyone sympathise with me over _him_ – but that my life is no longer mine.

None of us should be surprised. This all started the minute Peeta's name got called. The minute _my _name got called.

The minute a district rebelled, and children were thrust into a game of life and death.

I remember the words I uttered to Finnick the last time we spoke - _"I will not let Snow do what he wants with me…I'll do everything in my power not to." _- and I know that this is something I can do that is within my power, one of the very few things that are.

"Then I need to see him," I say bluntly. "We need to go to him. Now." Haymitch nods, and glances at Effie.

"Can you organise that?" he asks her.

"Of course, Haymitch, I'll see to it immediately," she replies primly, and the old Effie is back. All business. She moves towards the door, and I go to follow, but Haymitch grips my wrist slightly to halt my progress.

"I'm sorry," he says simply, and I shrug.

"Why? Anything is better than the alternative that they want for me. If this is what I have to do to avoid it, then I guess I'll do it. It's not the worst thing in the world, and we shouldn't act like it." We stand there in silence, a final moment between mentors.

"You know you've probably only fuelled the flames even more, right?" he finally says, and I nod.

"I'm their Girl on Fire, Haymitch. What more do they expect?"

* * *

It takes most of the day for Effie to organise us entry into the medical facility in the training centre, and we're only granted access as the afternoon begins to fade into night. We try to be as discreet as possible as we step out from the tribute elevator into the main lobby. The only people there are guards, their faces sober and free of any inflections. They don't care who we are. As long as we don't do anything we shouldn't, they'll ignore us.

We travel in the elevator that services the underground floors, and eventually reach the level where Peeta is being held. It's sterile and white, nothing but a wide room with a light blue couch lined against the wall, and a long plain corridor stretching before us. A pale yellow light emanates from the ceiling, and I remember it clearly from the first time I opened my eyes after I was pulled from the arena last year

Halfway down, a panel slides open, and a short man with a shock of magenta hair pokes his head out. The minute he sees us his eyes widen, and he stumbles out, hurrying towards us on stubby legs, his white lab coat flapping behind him.

"What are you doing here?" he hisses at me.

"What do you think?" I retort before Haymitch can stop me.

"_You're _not meant to be here," he hisses again, pushing a finger into my chest angrily. Haymitch grabs his arm by the wrist and flings it aside.

"Watch it buddy," he glowers, and Magenta Man has the decency to cower under the look Haymitch gives him. "Now stop being an asshole and tell us what you're talking about."

"President Snow has made it very clear that Miss Everdeen is not to see Mr Mellark until the victor ceremony."

"I bed your pardon, but Mentors are _always_ allowed to visit the victor," Effie admonishes him, her gaze pointed.

"I have explicit instructions, Miss Trinket," he replies, only the faintest tremor in his voice."

"Well, I never," Effie exclaims. "I will not let this go lightly. Who are you? I demand to speak to your superior." I can see him draw his chest in, breathing deeply in frustration or anger, I can't tell.

"Dr Chiron. And I report directly to President Snow, so I suggest you take it up with him if you don't like the decision." He knows he has the upper hand now, and there's nothing we can do. I'm pissed – we all are – but Haymitch stands his ground.

"Well, you didn't say anything about me not being able to, Doc, so take me to him," he demands. Dr Chiron shrugs.

"You can see him – but he's still under sedation, recovering. You won't be able to speak to him."

"I just want to see him," Haymitch demands again, his voice hardening, and I know he's losing his patience. This guy should just be thankful Haymitch stopped drinking at about 3am, otherwise it would be pretty messy right now.

"Fine. You can come. These two," he points at Effie and I, "Need to stay here." Effie mutters under her breath about poor manners, but I just ignore him, throwing myself onto the blue couch. I don't particularly like being here anyway. It holds too many memories from last year, the tubes and wires sticking into my skin, the low hum of the machines that surrounded me, the silence of the avoxes as they became my only contact with the outside world.

I know exactly what Peeta is going through right now. And as much as I want to see him, _need _to see him, I know it won't make much of a difference whether I do or not.

But it's the fact that Snow wants to keep me from him until the ceremony that is infuriating. I know I can't let that show here – I'm not nearly as oblivious as I was before as to what lengths Snow will do to keep an eye on me. I'm confident that there would be discreet surveillance cameras throughout this facility, recording every word I utter, every expression that crosses my face.

I refuse to give him any more fuel to add to the fire.

"Don't let this bother you, dear," Effie says softly, sitting beside me carefully, expertly crossing her legs. "I'm sure it's just to ensure that we don't interrupt Peeta's recovery at all." I glance at her, frustration already bubbling at the back of my throat, but I know she's only saying what is expected of her to say. She knows as well as I do how careful we have to be.

"Yes, I know," I reply. "We have to make sure he has a quick recovery." She nods, and I can almost feel the approval emanating off her.

We sit in silence, Effie tapping away at a hand held computer, while I stare blankly into space. I can't help but think how the reactions are in our District right now. How happy everyone must be for Peeta. How comforting it is knowing that 12 will receive food packages for another year. How relieved Mr Mellark, and Peeta's brothers must be that he's coming home. I don't even consider his mother.

And then it hits me how awkward it's going to be to return home and face an entire district who are now fully invested in a relationship that's barely just begun. I shudder, knowing that I'm going to have to get used to this type of scrutiny, probably for the rest of my life.

_Better than the alternative, better than the alternative. Peeta will always be better than the alternative_.

Finally, Haymitch returns, his face drawn and tired. I open my mouth to question him, but he simply shakes his head and walks past us back to the elevator. We ride in silence up to the lobby, then on the tribute elevator to the penthouse. Haymitch walks straight to the buffet, grabs the largest crystal decanter he can lay his hands on and goes to his room, slamming the door behind him.

Effie and I look at each other in shock.

"Did he do this last year?" I whisper, and she shakes her head.

"No. Let me speak to him."

"Shouldn't we leave him alone?" I ask.

"No," she replies firmly. She moves down the hall, her stride purposeful, and I watch as she barges through the door, unannounced.

I guess sometimes, manners just aren't required.

The door slams behind her, and I hear faint mutterings, murmurings. A silence, followed by a loud shout.

"_Just leave me the fuck alone, Effie!"_

And I can't deal with that. The only person I know, without a doubt that I can speak to and who would understand, doesn't want to speak to anyone.

I head for my room, and curl up on my side on the bed, holding back the sobs that have settled in my chest and threaten to burst forth. Whatever happened when Haymitch saw Peeta wasn't good. It can't be, not to garner that kind of reaction. I close my eyes, willing the tears pricking at my eyes to subside.

I must fall asleep, because I open my eyes to a hand gently stroking my hair and the sky outside the window black as ink, broken only by a smattering of stars. I half turn to see Cinna sitting on the edge of the armchair he'd dragged over from the corner, his hand shifting through the knotted strands of my hair. His eyes are tired, but they're the friendliest thing I've seen in a long time.

"Hello, Katniss," he says softly, and drops his hand so it falls to the mattress. Unbidden, I reach out my own, curling my fingers with his. Cinna is one of the few people in this world who I can be myself around, so I don't stop the tear that tracks down my cheek. He sighs. "Don't cry. Peeta's fine."

"How do you know?" I whisper softly. He reaches his free hand up, and rubs his eyes.

"Because I've been working non-stop on his outfit for the ceremony. And I wouldn't be doing that if he wasn't." What he says makes sense, and the peace that envelops me is staggering. I nod slightly, so he knows I understand.

"How long was I asleep?" I ask, coughing slightly to clear my throat.

"About 3 hours." My eyes pop – it's the longest I can remember sleeping in one, uninterrupted session. "I came in, and you were completely out. I'd say you needed it." I slowly sit up and take a deep breath.

"How's Haymitch?" I ask. A slight grin crosses Cinna's face.

"Ah…well, Effie certainly laid into him. But I think whatever they argued about has been sorted. Neither mentioned what it was about, and Portia and I didn't want to ask."

"It was about Peeta," I say simply, and he nods. "Do you know anything about his condition?"

"No. All I know is that he'll be there for the ceremony."

I roll my shoulders, trying to work out the stiffness that has settled in them. "Do you know when that is yet?"

"Two days. I've already got your outfit planned."

"I don't have to try it on, do I?"

"No," he smiles. "It will fit you perfectly. But I do know the prep team will want to spend some time with you." I shrug my shoulders, resigned to the fact that I'm going to experience just a little more pain before this is over. I can see Cinna studying me carefully, and I catch his eye.

"What?" I ask.

"Haymitch told you, didn't he?" He says softly, almost so softly I'm not even sure he's spoken. But I can see the same sympathy in his eyes that I saw in Haymitch and Effie's, so I know he did. What surprises me is that it's almost overshadowed by something else.

Hope. Hope for what, I don't know.

"Yes, he did." There's nothing else I can say. Not while we're in here. He nods, and rises to his feet.

"Try and rest more, Katniss. I'll see you in the morning." I watch as he crosses to the door and moves out into the hallway, leaving me alone, to do nothing but wait.

* * *

The next two days drag. Haymitch visits Peeta, and reports little. While he's back to his usual sarcastic self, there's a sadness that surrounds Haymitch that I haven't felt before. I try not to think about it, try not to let my thoughts wander to whatever it may be that has affected him so much. I spend the obligatory time with my prep team, but hardly interact with them, with their constant, shallow but good-hearted, chattering. The remainder of my hours are filled with nothing but my own thoughts. My focus is on Peeta, and what happens from now on.

The afternoon of the victor ceremony eventually arrives, and I'm alone with Cinna again as he puts the finishing touches on my outfit. He's avoided red and orange and pink and yellow for me this time. Instead, he's selected a blue reminiscent of the ocean in District 4 that shimmers and almost looks alive when I turn from side to side. It's deceptively simple – a fitted bodice with thin straps that crossover my shoulder blades, its skirt falling from my waist to my ankles in a wispy, floaty layer. Blue fire, he calls it, and I don't argue. My hair is down, pinned so that it tumbles over my left shoulder in waves. My make-up is light and basic. When I turn to study myself in the mirror I look romantic and sweet. In reality, I'm neither of those, but Cinna knows what he's doing. He always does.

We're quiet, but it's not uncomfortable. It's necessary, I think, because I'm not sure I could hold a conversation right now. I have too many thoughts in my head, too many things to worry about. A 3 hour re-cap to dread. I don't speak much at all, even when Effie bustles in, and Haymitch follows, rolling his eyes, and tugging awkwardly at the jacket he's been dressed in. They chat around me, speaking about nonsensical things that I pay no attention to. Cinna starts to leave to prepare Peeta, and as he goes, he wraps me in a hug, tighter I think than any he's given me previously.

"I'm still betting you, girl on fire. Always," he whispers in my ear, and I smile as best as I can before he walks out the door. Effie, Haymitch and I look at each other warily, and he tips his head towards the bathroom. Effie and I dutifully follow him in, turning on all the taps in the sink and shower as soon as we're in there. He sighs, and scratches at his head.

"Ok, I know we all know what needs to happen from here on out. But the kid doesn't. I haven't been able to say anything to him while he's been in the medical bay. But he's clever at expressing himself. As long as he's aware that you have feelings for him, sweetheart, I really don't think he needs to know the rest just yet. He doesn't need coaching in how to act. He'll be fine. Do you agree?" Both Effie and I nod. I can't see a better alternative. "Good. We'll tell him everything once we arrive back in 12 and have more privacy. It's not like he needs any more surprises at this stage."

I frown at him. "What do you mean by surprises, Haymitch? I'm sick of being left in the dark about whatever you're holding out on me." He shakes his head.

"You'll see, sweetheart, you'll see. Now let's go. I don't want to draw this shit out any longer than we have to."

* * *

The prep team goes first, the cheers deafening even from backstage. Effie follows, and I can only imagine the smile that's gracing her face. Ultimately, she's from the Capitol, and I can't forget the acknowledgement she would be receiving right now for having two victors two years in a row, would be feeding whatever ego she has.

Cinna is next, and as I know he downright refused to appear without Portia, she steps out with him. I haven't seen much of her at all since Hadley died, and in the brief moments I saw her as we waited to appear onstage, I know she hasn't been sleeping very well. Two years in a row she has had a tribute die, while Cinna's has come out of the arena Victor. She knows heartache that he doesn't completely understand yet.

Finally, it's time for Haymitch and I to make our entrance. I desperately want to grip onto his hand, hold onto it tightly but I know I can't. I need to look, act, _feel_ strong in front of the Capitol, in front of Snow.

The crowd is a mass of blurred faces, and the auditorium is filled with a cacophony of sounds. It's deafening, and slightly terrifying. I hate crowds, hate the attention, hate everyone looking at me. But I smile, and nod, and wave, and shake hands with Caesar, acknowledging when he says how happy he is to see me. The applause and shouting and cheering doesn't abate for a good 5 minutes, for all of which I just want to slink off the stage to my seat and wait for Peeta to appear.

Caesar lets us go, and we take our seats in the front row, in between Effie and Cinna. I try to concentrate on Caesar's words as he speaks warmly of Peeta, of his triumph in the arena, but his words mean nothing. My eyes are fixed firmly in the middle of the stage, where I know the platform will rise with Peeta standing on it. And when it finally does, my heart stops.

_He looks beautiful. He looks perfect. He looks….uninjured._

His blonde hair is casually styled, with one errant wave that insists on falling onto his forehead. Cinna has dressed him in a simple black suit, cut to fit him perfectly, highlighting his broad shoulders while also cleverly hiding the fact Peeta has lost a lot of mass in the arena. The only hint of colour in his entire outfit is the gleaming Mockingjay pin on his lapel, and his tie.

It matches my dress.

I glance at Haymitch, but his eyes are trained forward, so I look back at Peeta, watching as he makes his way towards Caesar. He has a slight limp, and uses a cane to assist him, but that makes sense, with the extent of his leg injury. Even after two days in a Capitol medical facility, it doesn't surprise me that it hasn't entirely healed yet. He clasps hands with Caesar, who raises their arms in victory, only causing the crowds cheers to grow louder and wilder. Peeta smiles, though he can't wave, with one hand caught in Caesar's, and the other gripping tightly to the cane. He's working the crowd perfectly, moving his gaze around, sharing his smile so that every single person in the audience thinks he's aiming it at them. And then he looks down at us, at his team, and our eyes lock.

I hear nothing, see nothing, except for him. And I don't even think about what I do next.

I pull myself out of my seat, vaguely hearing Haymitch mutter my name, but I don't care. I scramble up the stairs, thankful Cinna put me in those ballet slippers again and practically run across the stage. Caesar looks like he's ready to die of excitement, while Peeta's eyes widen in shock, then surprise. And then he smiles again and takes a step towards me. I fling myself into his arms, and I feel one of them band around my waist tightly, drawing me in. He lowers his head, and buries his face into the crook of my neck. He breathes deeply, and I can feel the hitch in his chest. I pull my head back slightly, lifting a hand up to his face and sliding it into his hair.

"Hi," I whisper.

"Hi," he whispers back. "That was quite something." I smile slightly, despite the embarrassment that is starting to seep in, causing a blush to sweep across my cheeks. The sounds of the crowd are now beginning to penetrate again, and they're wild, out of control.

"I, uh…..I missed you," I tell him, and he smiles again.

"I missed you too." I ignore Caesar, who's calling for us to kiss, and ignore the crowd, who are echoing his sentiments.

"I should leave you to your adoring fans," I whisper again, going to pull away. He stops me, gripping my wrist tightly.

"Stay with me?" he asks imploringly, and I can't say no to him. I know exactly how he's feeling right now. So I have no right to deny him.

"Always," I reply, and squeeze his hand.

* * *

Peeta's request for me to stay on stage causes a slight ruckus, but they're not going to deny a Victor such a simple request at such an important time. A small red couch is produced, and the victor throne promptly removed. I sit beside Peeta and hold his hand the entire duration of the three hour recap, feeling the spasms in his hand each time he sees Hadley, and any of his fights with the tributes. His face is stoic, but his eyes betray the misery, anger and sadness I know he's feeling on the inside. Occasionally I glance down at Haymitch, and I see a begrudging look of respect on his face every time we lock eyes. I'm probably playing this better than he ever wanted me to do.

I hate to break it to him that it's hardly an act.

Caesar plaintively asks for a kiss – again – to round up the ceremony, but Peeta denies him, simply saying _some things are meant to be private. _I couldn't agree more.

We're finally released backstage, where Peeta is congratulated by the prep team on such a wonderful victory ceremony. Haymitch rolls his eyes at their ramblings, and grips my elbow, pulling me into a hug.

"What the hell was that?" he hisses in my ear.

"I didn't think," I reply quietly. "But I don't regret it." He sighs, and pulls away, studying me carefully.

"No, I don't suppose you do," he says simply.

We're whisked away quickly to President Snow's mansion for the gala dinner, and hours fly by without me being able to speak to Peeta. He's bandied around from sponsor to sponsor, citizen to citizen, by an over-zealous Effie who is playing her public escort role to the hilt. I sit, and wait, not in the mood to socialise, not in the mood to speak to people I don't care about. Of course, this doesn't prevent them from seeking me out, and it's no surprise when the seat next to me is pulled away from the table, and Snow sits down next to me, calmly smoothing the seams on his pants before he looks at me.

"Another interesting performance by you, Miss Everdeen," he starts, and I fight the urge to snap back.

"I was thrilled to see Peeta, seeing as I haven't been allowed to," I reply calmly but pointedly. He chortles.

"Ah yes. Well, I must be indulged sometimes, and I thought it best you wait and see Mr Mellark for the first time at his…finest."

"Excuse me?" I ask, sure this is relevant to whatever Haymitch has been keeping from me. Snow's eyebrows raise, surprised, and he laughs again.

"Well, well. It seems our mentors aren't being very honest with each other." I shrug, refusing to give in to his taunts. "I think I'll leave it as a surprise. Surprises are such fun, don't you think?" He rises, making as if to leave, but he leans down close to my ear, his voice bitter and angry. "Don't think this is the last of it, Miss Everdeen. I've been doing this for a very long time, and I _always_ win." I glance back at him as he stands, and I catch sight of Peeta not ten metres away, watching us carefully.

"We'll see, President Snow, we'll see. As you said, surprises are such fun. It's been a pleasure," I retort, and stand, brushing him aside, and heading straight for Peeta. I grasp his hand, and move for the exit, not bothering to look back towards Snow.

"Katniss, where are we going?" Peeta asks, stumbling a little behind me. I slow, turning to him and placing a small kiss on his cheek.

"President Snow gave us permission to leave," I reply, though he said no such thing. "Let's go back to the Penthouse. There's some things we need to talk about." He looks surprised, but nods. I catch sight of Haymitch speaking to Finnick just as we walk out, and both their heads dip in unison, in what I can only take as a show of approval.

Our ride back to the training centre is quiet. The town car drives quickly, and smoothly, but we do nothing but link our fingers together, staring out the windows on either side of us. The elevator ride is the same, and once there, I lead Peeta up the rooftop stairs, not allowing him the chance to glance around the quarters he occupied before the arena. I push open the door, leading him into the cool, late night air, and lean against the ledge, breathing in the scent of lavender. I can also smell rain in the distance, and it's fresh and comforting.

The weather is another thing the Capitol can't control, and it's something I hold on to. _They can't control everything, no matter how much they want to_.

I hear a throat clear, and turn to see Peeta staring at me. I blush, because I don't think I will ever fully understand why he looks at me the way he does.

"I told you you were the first person I was going to come looking for when I got out," he starts, taking a step forward, and standing beside me against the ledge. I nod. "But you beat me to it tonight. I didn't even have to look for you. You were already there." I nod again, feeling my heart thud against my ribs. He's close, so close I can smell him, and he just smells so much like _Peeta_. He rests his cane against the ledge and brushes a stray hair off my forehead, leaving his hand resting against my cheek; I lean into it.

"I had to be there," I say softly, and he smiles again. _Being married to a man with that kind of smile is not going to be a hardship._

"And why is that?" He asks, although he must already know the answer. Surely by now, he would know I'm _never _that demonstrative, never that open in public.

"Because," I reply, shrugging, and I know I sound like a petulant child.

"Because you missed me?"

"Yeah."

"Because you like me?"

"Yeah." He falls silent, and I look into his face, seeing the happiness there at my words. And I can't hold back any more. I slide my arms up and around his neck, drawing his body to mine, and press my lips to his softly, gently. I'm not well practiced with kissing – my first and only was the one he'd planted on me the night before the games – so I'm not entirely sure how to take charge here. But he responds quickly, and eagerly, and he slides his hand up into my hair, cupping the nape of my neck and pulling me even closer to him. His lips are soft, and gentle, and a slight moan escapes me as he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue along my bottom lip and gripping my hip tightly with his other hand. I wonder how I ever lasted without this knowledge, this feeling, _him_, in my life. I shift closer, tucking my foot in between both of his, my knee bumping against his. And I know.

I pull back abruptly, my hands still splayed against the back of his neck, my eyes wide. And he averts his gaze.

"Peeta – what….." I trail off, and lean down, slowly drawing up his left pant leg. It's metal and plastic, not flesh and bone. They amputated his leg.

This is what Haymitch has been keeping from me.

My eyes fill with tears, but I straighten again, to see Peeta regarding me carefully.

"I lost it," he says simply, and I lean forward, burying my head in his chest. I try to hold the tears back, but I can't, and they steadily drip onto his shirt. His arm hesitantly rests on the small of my back, and I grip the front of his shirt tightly in my fists, cursing the Capitol.

They can do anything. They can remove my flaws, dye peoples skin, keep them young, younger than they could ever dream to be.

But they can't save a damned leg.

I raise my eyes to Peeta's again, and I can see the wariness in his eyes. I shake my head, and place my hands on either side of his face.

"It doesn't matter, Peeta," I tell him quietly. "It doesn't change who you are." I smile at him, and gently brush my fingers across the mockingjay pin. "You told me, before you went into the arena, that when you came out you would try and convince me that I love you." He blushes at this, but I won't let him look away. "You don't have to try and convince me, Peeta." I lean forward, gently kissing him again, pouring everything I have into the kiss, knowing that _this _is something the Capitol can't stop either. He pulls back slightly, his eyes full of hope, full of light, full of love.

"I love you, Katniss Everdeen," he says softly, and I can feel the muscle in his jaw spasm as he says it. I lean forward.

"I love you too, Peeta Mellark," I whisper in his ear.

* * *

I can feel Snows' eyes boring a hole in the back of my head, and I ignore every instinct in my body that tells me not to turn around, to keep my attention focused on Peeta and the path leading us to the train.

So of course, I slowly turn, in the guise of waving to the crowd again, and immediately lock eyes with him. They're bitter, beady, almost black with hatred.

Two years in a row, I've made him feel like a fool. And nothing - or no one - ever makes Coriolanus Snow out to be a fool and gets away with it.

I give him no recognition, and turn back, taking the final few steps towards the entrance to the train. We climb inside, not caring of the luxury around us. It holds no meaning, no purpose, no fulfilment to us.

We stand in front of a large window, the glass having been retracted into the ceiling, to wave our final goodbyes to the Capitol citizens.

Farewell and good riddance, I think to myself.

Peeta and I stand in the center, Effie to my left and Haymitch on Peeta's right. I feel Peeta's arm snake around my waist, pulling me against him, and I rest my head on his shoulder. It's warm, it's comfort. It's another reminder that whatever kind of predicament we've gotten ourselves into, it's nothing compared to what some of the other victors have experienced. Because what will happen for us, I know would have happened all along.

When we get home, I'll tell him what we have to do. What I _want_ to do. And then Snow will need to think of a different way to punish us.

As the train pulls out, I continue to feel Snows' eyes trained on me, and I know he's already thinking.

When he's done, ready to try whatever he can to ruin us, we'll be waiting.

Peeta and I.

Always.

* * *

**A/N - Thank you to all of you who have favourited, followed or reviewed this story. It's a little bittersweet to let it go, but I hope you enjoyed this final chapter of Stacked Odds.**

**A special thank you to those people who have helped me prior to the posting of chapters. Love you all.**


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